


Enoch

by rabidchild67



Category: My Favorite Wife, Star Trek RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, M/M, Presumed Dead, Rom-Com Trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 12:05:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 25,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4391231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven years after Chris disappeared in a plane crash, Zach has him declared officially dead and remarries. Then Chris comes back. Did I mention this is a comedy?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Montauk, Long Island

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fusion of Pinto with the 1940 film _My Favorite Wife_ , starring Cary Grant, Irene Dunne, and Randolph Scott. Some of the situations will therefore seem a bit contrived (who am I kidding— _hella_ contrived), but what can I say, I’m a sucker for this crap and this is one of my favorites. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
> 
> Title is taken from the poem _Enoch Arden_ by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, which inspired the original movie. Read it if you're like me and love to emotionally torture yourself.

“Look at this place!” Zach marveled, dropping his bag in the doorway of their rented villa. “I can't believe we have this whole place to ourselves, babe.” 

“Yeah, well,” Drew said with a shrug. 

“And look at you, all blasé about it,” Zach observed. 

“I mean it's not the same as the family estate, of course...” 

Zach couldn't help but kiss him. Drew’s family might make the Kennedys look like the Brady Bunch, but Drew had never been as snobbish as them. They parted and Drew went to stow some of the groceries they’d brought for the weekend. Zach walked over to a pair of sliding glass doors that overlooked a vast flagstone patio. 

“Just look at that view,” he said, sliding the door open to let the cool ocean breeze in. The sky was blue and filled with fluffy clouds, and the sight of them drew Zach outside. He wandered to the edge of the patio, to look out at the water. The private beach beyond the house was empty. “Never thought I’d see it from this vantage point.”

“You’ve come a long way from being a cabana boy here,” Drew said, coming up behind Zach. 

“I’ll have you know I was a bartender,” Zach corrected him. “We got a lot more ass than the cabana boys.”

“Oh, well, that’s an important distinction. Too bad I never knew you back then—all young and hot.” He slid his arms around Zach’s waist and held him close. 

“Thank you, but ew—it was fifteen years ago—what were you, ten?” 

“I was advanced for my age.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t.” 

Drew kissed him on the side of his neck. “Lunch?”

“I’m famished.”

“I’ll call room service.” Drew grasped Zach's left hand with his and intertwined their fingers, admiring the dull silver of their hammered-platinum wedding bands. “I know how to take care of my man.” 

“Or order up a club sandwich,” Zach cracked. Drew laughed lightly as Zach turned his head to catch his lips in a brief kiss. When Drew pulled away, Zach raised his other hand to pull him back, but his new husband danced away with a laugh. 

“I'll call you when it's here; I’m sure it won't be long.” 

Zach watched him go and felt a frisson of excited dread run up his spine. It had been so long, and could barely confess to himself he was nervous about their wedding night. He crossed his arms, shivering as the wind off the water picked up, and stared out at the landscape before him. 

In the distance, he saw a man standing along the water’s edge, looking out at the boats in their slips. Where he’d come from, Zach couldn’t say—he hadn't seen him approach, though he might have in the last few moments when Zach’s attention was on Drew. Squinting against the glare, Zach raised his hands to shield his eyes, to try to see the man better. He was white, tall, and athletically built, with broad shoulders and slim hips. From this distance, Zach could discern he had dark blond hair, long enough to have grown over the collar of his open-necked shirt. He was tan, relaxed-looking. And staring right back at Zach now. 

Zach didn't know whether to challenge the guy for gawking or to go back inside. The glare of sunlight off the ocean threw the man’s face into shadow, so Zach couldn't really make his features out. Suddenly, the man cocked his head to the side in a gesture that had once been so familiar to Zach, the memory of it still caused a pang. 

Zach dropped his hands. “Chris?” He fought the urge to cover his mouth when the name escaped, as if he'd uttered a forbidden word. 

The man turned and headed back toward the main building, and if his gait seemed familiar, or the way he moved his hips, Zach told himself it was only wishful thinking. It was the heaviness of the day’s events intruding on his mind. There was no way it could be Chris. 

Chris was dead.


	2. Earlier That Morning

The courtroom in Kings County Family Court was a surprisingly bright and cheerful space, decorated in blond woods and chrome, with large windows providing more natural light than Zach would have thought possible in this part of Brooklyn. It was somehow unseemly, he thought irritably, trying not to let that irritation show on his face. Beside him, Drew fidgeted and grasped onto Zach’s hand even tighter; when Zach looked at him, he smiled back happily. Zach tried not to scowl.

The Honorable Judge Irene Grant, presiding over the court, seemed just as irritable as Zach. A tiny woman with dyed red hair and large, black-rimmed glasses, Drew said she looked like an owl, and Zach had not been able to get that image out of his mind.

“Now then, are the parties all present in the matter of Christopher Whitelaw Pine?”

“Yes, your honor,” Zach called out and stood. He took a step forward but found himself unable to take another; Drew’s grip on his hand had not released. Zach turned and tried to pull his hand away, but the other man’s grip was like iron. “Drew, come on, I’ve gotta—“

“She scares me!” Drew hissed in a stage whisper loud enough for literally everyone in the room to hear.

“She’s an ordinary woman,” Zach pointed out.

“With the power to affect our lives forever!”

“Don’t be silly.” Zach peeled Drew’s fingers from his own and turned back around to find Judge Grant glaring at him over the rims of her glasses. He felt an adrenaline surge, a fight-or-flight response he was sure; maybe Drew’s instincts weren’t wrong.

“Are we quite ready?” Grant asked him testily.

Zach stood up tall and adjusted the knot on his tie. “Yes, your honor.” As he approached the bench, he noticed the judge rifling through the file before her and shaking her head.

“Say Winston, aren’t I supposed to be marrying somebody this afternoon?” she asked her clerk suddenly. “Can’t we do that first, it’s so much less complicated than this one.”

“Oh yes, it’s very complicated,” Winston agreed with her.

“Yes, but your honor,” Zach began.

“All these affidavits and things.”

“Yes.”

“But ma’am,” Zach tried to interrupt.

“I mean, he’s being declared dead, he can wait one more hour,” Winston pointed out.

“Dead?” Judge Grant flipped back to the first page of the file. “Oh yes, it says right here. That is a shame. Yes, look here, it says he was father to two infant children.” She tsked and tutted. “What a terrible shame. Let’s do the wedding first.”

Winston smiled and nodded in agreement.

“Yes, but that’s where the complication arises, ma’am,” Zach said, raising his voice a little louder.

Judge Grant and Winston looked up at Zach as if he was interrupting a private conversation. “You’re Mr. Quinto, Christopher Whitelaw Pine’s husband?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, Your Honor, it’s been seven years.”

“What’s that?”

“I said it’s been seven years since his plane went down in the South Pacific.”

Judge Grant flipped through the pages before her. “Yes, it says it right here. He was taking part in a zoological expedition.”

“He was a photographer for National Geographic.”

She looked up at him and smiled. “He was? You must have been very proud.”

Zach smiled. “Yes.”

She looked back at the file. “It says he was in a plane and it went down somewhere near Easter Island.”

“That’s the one with the big heads,” a fourth voice interjected.

All three sets of eyes looked at Drew, who was standing, finger in the air to make his point.

“I know which one it is,” Judge Grant said. “We’ll have no more outbursts, young man.”

Drew blanched and sat down. Zach felt bad, but there wasn’t much he could do; he turned back around to face the judge.

“Now what was your husband, father to two infant children, doing flying around in the South Pacific?” Judge Grant asked Zach.

“You’ll find it all in the brief. We were going to take the trip together, but I had a big case, you see.”

“You were both going to leave your young children behind?” she shook her head. “I never heard such a thing.”

“They would have stayed with my brother, ma’am.”

“Yes, I’ll bet you’d pawn them off on your brother, you look just the type.”

“What type is that?”

“You know, career-driven, type-A personality. Wanting to make partner before you turn 30.”

“I resent that, ma’am.”

“Was it true?”

Zach adjusted his tie once more. “That’s irrelevant.”

“Ah ha! Score one for me.” She hopped up and down in her seat triumphantly. “So you let your husband go gallivanting about the world.”

“It was hardly a matter of ‘letting’ him do anything, ma’am. Anyway, it’s all in the brief,” he said, indicating the file the judge had.

“Then why don’t you let me read it?”

Zach closed his eyes for a beat and counted to five. “Yes, Your Honor.”

“When did the plane disappear?”

“May 13, 2008. It’s on page seven.”

“Never mind, never mind. I'll find it.” She flipped through the pages.

“No, ma’am, page seven. That’s page four.”

“I know it's four. I know that. Oh, here it is. Page seven. ‘Last seen entering the twin engine plane with the pilot and two others. They flew into a sudden storm and…’ oh, that’s very sad. Very sad."

Zach flinched as Drew added another helpful comment, “They found the black box.”

“Well, I see it in the affidavit from the Chilean aviation authorities, now sit down.”

Drew sat down with a slightly offended huff.

“Young man, there is such a thing as contempt of court, don’t make me cite you,” the judge warned, and Drew looked stricken. Zach felt for him, but they needed to keep things on track.

“Now where were we?” the judge asked.

“Page seven.”

“Ah yes.” She read the content on the page for a moment, her lips moving as she did. “What efforts were made by you to find your husband?”

“That’s on page eight. I traveled down there to assist with the search, but the weather wasn’t conducive to it. We eventually found the plane on the ocean floor, but no bodies. I was told no one could have survived such rough seas so far from land.”

The judge looked at him for an agonizingly long half minute. “No, I don’t suppose they could,” she said, her voice kind. “Well, I can see nothing else for it—there are sworn affidavits, and the law is very clear in these matters. I hereby declare Christopher Whitelaw Pine to be deceased.” She rapped her gavel once, and the finality of it hit Zach harder than he had thought it would.

“Now Winston, wasn’t I supposed to be marrying someone?” Judge Grant said, leaning back against her clerk, who still stood beside her chair. “Can we do that now? It’s so much cheerier.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Zach said, snapping out of his reverie. He held a hand out to beckon Drew to come forward. “Us.”

“Are you getting married again?” Judge Grant blinked owlishly at him through her glasses. “So soon? What are you, some sort of smooth operator?”

“No, ma’am.”

“It’s been seven years,” Drew pointed out slowly.

The judge scowled at him.

“We’re in love,” Drew added defensively.

“Not now,” Zach said, patting him on the hand.

The judge sighed. “Fine, fine. Where are your witnesses?”


	3. Meanwhile, in Park Slope

“Here we are, buddy.” 

Chris looked out the window of the taxi at the neighborhood, amazed at how much had changed—and stayed the same. The Starbucks had somehow tripled in size, and the small chicken joint on the corner was now called Roy's instead of Ray's, but much of what he loved about the neighborhood remained the same. The park with the funny rocking farm animals was still there, and he saw they'd managed to install rubber surfaces beneath the monkey bars to protect growing bones. It was the middle of summer, so the place was packed. He remembered how much he loved to come here during the school year and the place was quiet; he'd sit at one of the chess tables, the baby stroller beside him, and try to win a game off one of the old duffers who'd set up shop there on a daily basis. He couldn't remember ever winning. 

“Hey, ya gonna take in the sights or are ya getting out?” the cabbie said, twisting around on his seat. His voice softened, “Aww, are ya cryin’?”

“No,” Chris said, blinking back tears. “That’s my house over there.”

“So what? Is that bad?” The cabbie couldn't have been more cliché if he'd tried, with his snap brim cap pulled down over bushy eyebrows, chewing on an unlit cigar. 

“No.” He grabbed the shopping bag that contained all his earthly possessions and reached into his pocket. “How much do I owe you?” 

“It's taken care of.” 

“What?”

“Captain Gomes took care of it. Gave me enough for a nice tip too.”

Chris felt warmed all over with gratitude. People had been so kind to him the last two weeks, it was almost too much. He sniffed, determined not to tear up yet again. “Oh, well thank him for me, will you?” 

“You betcha.”

Chris got out of the car by the park, and walked through it to ground himself. Over in the corner, two of the chess tables were taken, and a raucous match of speed chess was ongoing. He saw that a tiny community garden had been planted with rose bushes while he was gone; they were still flowering. He walked through slowly, senses taking in once-familiar sights and sounds and smells. Being here felt like it was all a dream—he'd certainly had this one enough times—but the blister forming on the back of his heel from the brand new sneakers he wore told him otherwise. 

Beyond the park, right across the street, was a small and unassuming brick townhouse. It was only three stories, and the front stoop wasn't as impressive as the neighboring houses, but Chris happened to know that the garden in back grew the best tomatoes, and the bay window overlooking it had an exceptionally comfortable cushion on its window seat. He stood and took it all in, and this time he couldn't stop the tears from falling. 

“Noah no! Noah! Bad dog! No!”

Chris swiped the tears from his face and turned toward the sound in time to meet the onslaught of a rather large black terrier mix making a beeline for him, trailing a well-worn leather leash on the ground behind him. Before he could react, the dog was on him, front paws clawing Chris's chest as its head strained desperately toward his face. The weight of the animal forced him to take a step back or else fall over, and so he was unable to avoid its mouth. Noah’s tongue licked desperately as he made the kind of urgent, whiny noises usually reserved for emergency late night walkies or 4th of July fireworks. 

“Hey buddy, yeah,” Chris said to him fondly, a hand spread on the dog's back as excited licks devolved into nibbles. 

“Noah, Noah!” 

A small girl of perhaps seven ran up to them. She was dressed for the summer weather in a linen A-line dress and pink sneakers. She took the leash and tried to pull the dog down, but he was too excited to be controlled by her. Chris didn't want anyone to get hurt, so he pushed the dog off himself and guided his paws to the ground. He stood back and caught the dog’s attention, making a well-practiced gesture with his right hand; Noah came to heel immediately, and sat down with a resigned yip.

“I'm sorry, mister, he never runs away like that,” the girl said, winding the leash around her wrist and reeling herself closer to the dog. “Are you ok?”

“Are you?” Chris asked her. “He's an awfully big dog for such a little girl, and…”

“I'm not little,” she said forcefully, turning her chin up at him defiantly. Her blonde hair, cut in a chin-length bob, vibrated with barely-contained resentment, and her large blue eyes flashed angrily. “I'm under-tall.”

Chris couldn't help but laugh. “Oh really? I'm very sorry if I’ve insulted you.”

She gave him a look, but before she could speak another child ran up to them. “Teeny! What in the holy heck are you doin'?!” The boy, who was about nine, had dark brown hair and eyes and was at least a head taller than the girl. He was dressed in shorts and a Yankees t-shirt that hung off his lanky frame. 

“Teeny?” Chris said, taken aback slightly as he looked back at the little girl; he used to call her that when she was just born, because she was one month premature and was so small. Had the nickname persisted? He wondered what her real name was—he and Zach could never agree. She was just shy of three months old when Chris had gotten the assignment that took him away, and... he wondered what name Zach had chosen.

“Who're you?” Leo asked suspiciously, pulling Chris out of his reverie. He slid an arm around Teeny’s shoulders and pulled her toward him protectively.

“Knock it off, Leo, he's all right! I just had to save him from Noah is all,” Teeny protested, squirming out of his grip.

Leo pulled himself up to his full height, squaring his shoulders and feet as menacingly as such a short human could muster. “Did our _vicious attack dog_ have him cornered?”

Chris tried not to laugh. “Not exactly.” He dropped a hand and rested it on Noah's head. The dog made a contented noise and licked his hand. “Noah and I have a prior relationship.”

That earned him an even bigger stinkeye from the boy. 

“I know your dads,” Chris explained quickly. 

“We only have _one_ ,” Leo said, his eyes narrowing even more. 

“On account of the fact our other daddy drowneded,” Teeny supplied helpfully. 

Chris blinked at the matter of fact way she spoke of it. “I… I'm sorry to hear that. Do you miss him very much?”

“It's ok, I never met him. I mean, I was a tiny baby when he died.”

“Really?” Chris said. 

“I think it was sad.” She craned her head back to look at her brother. “Was it sad?”

“Dunno, I was only 2,” Leo replied. 

“Daddy was sad,” Teeny said with certainty.

“Well, sure he was. Where is your Daddy?”

“Kids?” Chris stiffened when he heard a familiar voice behind him. “You were supposed to just let Noah pee and come right back.”

Chris relaxed. Though familiar, and nearly identical to his brother's, Joe Quinto's voice still carried a trace of a Pittsburgh bray that simply refused to die. 

“Sorry Uncle Joe, he attacked this man,” Teeny called.

“What?!”

Chris turned as he heard Joe’s approach. “I don't think I'd call it an attack, exactly.”

Joe slid to a stop in the middle of the street, his eyes gone wide. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he breathed. 

Chris raised a hand in greeting. “Hey Joe. Whatta ya know?”

Joe squinted at Chris, as if not quite believing his eyes. They stared at each other for a solid minute before a panel truck approaching on the narrow street beeped, shaking him out of his shock. He stumbled toward Chris and held a hand out. Chris took it, and they shook warmly. There were tears in Joe’s eyes. “Is this real?”

Chris could only nod—he didn’t trust himself to speak.

“Let's get inside to put the groceries away,” Joe said to the children, his voice rough, “before the Popsicles melt.”


	4. Seven Years Earlier, More or Less

“Look at this place! Would you look at it?” Chris moved through the front room of the house like Charlie Bucket in the chocolate factory, pointing at the crown moldings, the plaster walls, the hand-turned wainscoting. 

“I am looking at it, Chris, I’ve got eyes.”

“But are you really _looking_?” Chris replied excitedly. Their search for the perfect house had yielded few results that both of them liked, but this one had everything they wanted—four bedrooms, a study, a finished basement, and a convenient address. “I mean!” Chris pointed at the cornices above the windows in the front parlor and was pretty sure he saw Zach’s eye twitch. “And that?” He pointed at the stamped tin ceiling. “Huh? Huh? And look at these floors!”

“They’re newly sanded and finished,” Rachel, their realtor, interjected. “And you don’t see honey pine like that these days. That’s from old growth wood, and the pegs are real mahogany. You’ll never be able to afford to buy that these days.”

“You see, honey?” Chris said, waggling his eyebrows at Zach. “Honey pine.”

Zach rested his hand in the middle of Chris’s chest. “Pine, _honey_ ,” he said, “we can’t afford this place on our budget.”

“Da-da! Da-da!” Leo babbled, pointing out the front window. Strapped into his stroller, he had a much different perspective. Chris glanced out the window to get a look at what he saw. 

“That’s right, Leo. It’s a birdy! Can you say it? Birdy. Birrr-dy!”

“Da-daaaaah!” Leo gurgled happily and clapped his hands.

“He loves birds!” Chris said triumphantly, standing back up and pointing at their 14-month old son, as if that proved something.

“This area of Brooklyn is under a major migratory route,” Rachel pointed out.

“Seriously?” Zach asked her.

Her response was to raise her eyebrows, but when Chris looked at her behind Zach’s back, she winked at him. He smiled back—he had an ally.

“You know the place is about to go to foreclosure, so I’m sure the owners will come down on the price,” she added.

“Yeah, but the taxes,” Zach whinged. “And the upkeep? Maybe we just stay in our building. I hear Mrs. Fleischer might be looking to sell.”

“We need a real house Zach—the new baby’ll be here in less than five months.”

“Those places in New Jersey were brand new, Chris.”

“And in New Jersey,” Chris protested, “it’s an hour outside the city!”

“With the hours I keep, the commute won’t be that bad,” Zach pointed out. The road to making partner at Abrams & Associates was paved with early mornings and a lot of late nights. 

Chris frowned, about to complain about it, when Rachel piped up. “Have you seen the kitchen and yard?”

“There’s a yard?”

The kitchen was closed off from the rest of the house by an old-fashioned swinging door; once inside, Chris thought he’d died and gone to heaven. The space was clearly newly renovated, with Italian ceramic tile floors and cherry wood cabinets, built-in book shelves in the breakfast nook, and the same tin ceiling that seemed to be a signature of the house. The appliances were top of the line, the countertops looked to be actual marble, and there was a copper-plated backsplash over the Viking range. Chris loved to cook, and the thought of the entertaining he could do from this kitchen nearly made his mouth water. 

The sound of a clearing throat caught his attention; Rachel was not-so-subtly pointing out the back window. 

“Holy…” Chris breathed. The light streaming into the kitchen came from a bay window that overlooked the yard; build into it was a wide window seat with storage beneath it that Chris could see from here. As he got closer, however, he had a glance at the yard outside. 

“Zach, come here,” he said, transfixed.

Zach wheeled Leo over. “Oh no, we’ve lost him.”

“Look at the lighting, look. Look at the… at the exposure out there.” Chris glanced at Zach as he came up behind him, sliding an arm around his shoulders. 

“I think we’ve lost him,” Zach commented to Rachel. Her answer was a smug smile. 

“We could have a garden, Zach,” Chris said longingly. In the house where he’d grown up, his mother kept a tidy vegetable garden, which yielded crops nearly all year long because of the southern California climate. Chris loved living in New York, but he missed having the space for a garden. Growing herbs and flowers in the window boxes of their pokey SoHo loft had been a disaster—there had been almost no sunlight. But this place—how such perfect exposure to the sun had happened in this neighborhood, Chris would never know, but he already couldn’t wait to plant tomatoes. And basil.

“And zucchini,” he said aloud, almost reverently. “Zach, please say we can make this work. I’ll sell my blood, I’ll eat ramen, I’ll do anything. I’ll… I’ll even do wedding photography.”

He felt Zach’s arm tighten around his shoulders. “Let’s not get too crazy, I think we can manage.”

Chris looked at him, surprised. “You do?” he asked hopefully.

Zach nodded. “I still have the inheritance from Leonard. He’d want his namesake to have a real house.”

A high school history teacher, Leonard had been like a father to Zach since he was a teenager, and had been so touched when they’d named their son after him. He’d died the year before, leaving a hole in all their lives. “Yeah, he would,” Chris said with a fond smile, his eyes suddenly wet. He rested his head on Zach’s shoulder. “We’re going to raise our family here, Zach, aren’t we?” he said quietly.

Zach kissed him. “Anything for you, Chris. Anything.”


	5. Back to Now

Chris stared out the window at the garden, more or less lying fallow now. He didn’t suppose Zach had the time to plant anything, though he did spot a patch of sunflowers growing in the corner, probably planted by one of the kids. 

“Chris!” Joe burst through the swinging door, letting it hit him in the ass so it would shut sooner, providing some privacy for their conversation. The children were in the basement family room, watching television. “You look good. You been working out?”

“I've been stranded on a deserted island in the South Pacific for the last seven years, Joe.”

“Explains the tan.” They watched each other for a minute. “I can't believe it man,” Joe said, his voice cracking, as he pulled Chris into a bear hug, slapping him on the back manfully.

Chris closed his eyes; being back was so surreal, he could barely believe it. “How is Zach?” He could barely say the name now; funny, since it had been on his lips or in his thoughts almost daily. 

“Zach?”

“Your brother? My husband? He’s all right, isn’t he?”

“He’s fine, fine. Tell me everything. How did you manage it? Where exactly were you? 

“Latitude 28, longitude 108. I'd still be there if a Portuguese freighter hadn't wandered 200 miles off-course. I want to see my husband, Joe. Where is he?

Joe turned around and picked up a peach from the basket on the kitchen table, offering it to Chris, who shook his head. Shrugging, he bit into it and slurped as the juice ran down his chin. Chris recognized it for the delaying tactic it was and his anxiety ratcheted up. “You have to understand he thought you were dead, Chrissy. We all did.”

Chris braced himself. “What happened?”

Joe swallowed. “He got remarried.”

Somehow, knowing was far worse than the split second of not knowing. Chris felt suddenly dizzy and swayed on his feet. 

“Hey, man,” Joe said gently, a firm hand on his bicep, “let's sit you down, all right?” 

“Yeah. Sure.” Chris allowed himself to be led over to a chair, and sat down heavily. 

“Who? Was it Jon? I knew that break-up would never be final.”

“Does it really matter?” Joe asked kindly. “No one you know.”

“When?”

“This morning.”

“This morning.”

“Yeah.”

“Is he nice?”

Joe shrugged. “He’s a Vanderpool.” He pushed the end of his nose up with his forefinger.

“That’s not something I ever considered—Zach remarrying. I suppose it _has_ been a while.”

“They’re honeymooning in the Hamptons, don’t you know, with Biffy and Buffy and the lads.” Joe rolled his eyes, which told Chris all he needed to know about his brother-in-law’s opinion of Zach’s new… _husband_. “The family has a big estate in Montauk, but they’re staying at the yacht club.”

“What? Our yacht club?” Chris and Zach had met in Montauk, fifteen years ago. Zach worked as a bartender that summer, while Chris stayed with his Aunt Betty in a cottage on the south shore. They’d met during the fireworks on Memorial Day and had been inseparable through Labor Day, when they both had to go back to school. 

Chris felt a fire stir in his belly. He stood and looked at the clock on the wall. “I can take the Jitney and be there before lunch. I just—I’m gonna need something appropriate to wear.” The oversized chinos and t-shirt he’d been given on the freighter were not going to cut it in the Hamptons. 

“I think there are still some of your clothes in the basement—I’ll grab a few things.”

“Thanks, Joe. And do you think I could take a shower?”

“It’s your house.”

“That’s right, it is.” Chris felt his confidence begin to be restored. 

“What are you gonna do once you get there?”

“I don’t know yet, but I hope I’m not too late.”


	6. A Few Hours Later

“I can’t believe we have to meet your parents for lunch,” Zach complained. “I thought they were in Barbados or whatever.”

“Sorry, babe, but you know how butt-hurt _Constance_ was when we told her there wouldn’t be an actual wedding. I couldn’t say no.”

“You know why I couldn’t have a wedding, Drew.” Zach could feel his face getting all pinched. The thought of all that pomp and ceremony on the heels of his having Chris declared dead was the most distasteful thing he could think of. His wedding to Chris had been a small and quiet commitment ceremony, just a few friends and family on a seaside cliff in California, the day after Chris graduated from Berkeley. They couldn’t wait to begin their life together, even if Zach was starting his first job at a prestigious Manhattan law firm a week later and they wouldn’t be getting a honeymoon. When same sex marriage became legal in New York, they had then opted for a civil ceremony in a courtroom much like he and Drew had done.

Drew laid a hand on Zach’s shoulder. “And you know how much I enjoy pissing my mother off,” he said in the exact same tone. “But this can’t be put off, or else she’ll be completely insufferable. We don’t want to feed too much into her martyr complex.”

“Fine,” Zach agreed, dragging his feet as they approached the resort’s main entrance. 

“Andrew, _darling_!!!” Constance Vanderpool sang out the moment they entered the hotel’s restaurant. Mother and son embraced and kissed, and she wiped her lipstick from his cheek with the pad of her thumb as Zach greeted Drew’s father, Preston, with a firm handshake. Zach got along well with Preston—he ought to, Vanderpool Industries was one of Zach’s biggest clients—and the old man gave Zach a jolly smile. 

“Constance,” Zach greeted his new mother-in-law, stepping into her personal space. He was unsure what the protocol was going to be now they were related. 

“Zachary,” Constance said, extending her hand so that he was forced to shake her limp fingers.

“Shouldn’t you call each other ‘mom’ and ‘son’?” Drew asked good-naturedly.

“No!” they both answered together; at least they agreed on one thing.

Zach saw Drew’s smirk as he held his mother’s chair out like a good little prep school boy.

“How was the ceremony?” Preston asked as soon as they’d ordered.

“It was perfectly acceptable,” Drew said.

“Yes, ‘acceptable’ is just the adjective one wants to hear applied to their wedding day,” Constance commented, fussing with her napkin.

“Mother, I told you we’re planning a big party later in the year to celebrate—we just don’t want all the fuss that comes with a big wedding.”

“Or the pre-nup, apparently,” she said in a stage whisper.

Zach sighed. “I already told Drew I’d sign—I even drafted one.”

“And I said I’d ask for no such thing,” Drew countered. “We love each other, we don’t need anything to protect us from each other.”

“My poor, sweet summer child. So naïve.”

Drew rolled his eyes at her and, from the look on his face, was surely about to deliver a nasty retort, when they were all interrupted by the arrival of a waiter with a bottle of champagne, a bucket of ice, and four glasses. The waiter displayed the bottle to all those seated with a flourish.

“Zach, you shouldn’t have!” Drew said happily, watching as the waiter cut the foil away from the bottle.

“A Bollinger ’92?” Constance said, grudgingly impressed. “Well, Zachary, at least you have good taste in wines.”

Zach’s head snapped to attention and he looked at her intently. “Did you say Bollinger _1992_?”

“Why, yes,” she replied as the waiter removed the cork and began to pour.

Zach’s heart began to race as he stood abruptly, nearly turning his chair over. “I need to go.”

“What?” Drew said. “Where?”

“I forgot my phone. In the room. Wouldn’t want to miss a call from Joe about the kids.”

“It’s right in your hand.”

Zach looked down at the phone he clutched. “I mean the other one. From the office.”

“We’re on our honeymoon, babe.”

“Well, you know, waiting to hear about a big case. I have. A big case I have.” He backed away from the table, his knee knocking against his chair. He reached out with a hand to right it, and nearly tripped over it again. “I have to go get it.”

“Can’t it wait?”

Zach shook his head as he backed away. “No.” 

Zach rushed from the dining room without seeing anything or hearing anyone. The bar was very large and spacious and, he remembered, tended to be quite the hot spot on summer evenings. During a Friday lunch, it was more sparsely populated, with most of the patrons choosing to enjoy the pleasant summer weather and the breeze off the water. Zach walked quickly past the doors toward the back corner, where there was a small room for private parties. That’s where he knew he must go.

He stopped in his tracks as soon as he crossed the threshold. The room held but one occupant, seated at the first table. Zach’s vision tunneled as their eyes met. Never before had he given credence to the cliché, but in that moment, time stood still. 

He didn’t know how he managed it, but he got across the room, and Chris was in his arms, and they were kissing. It was so familiar and yet so strange, something he had dreamed about, and wept the loss of. He didn’t want it to end, but he was finding it difficult to breathe. He tasted salt when they parted and realized he had tears on his face. “Oh,” he breathed, caressing his husband’s face with a trembling hand. 

Chris smiled up at him— _Chris_ —and said, “That’s all I wanted to know.”


	7. Fifteen Years Ago

“Hey, look at this!” 

Zach looked up as Chris made his way past the lockers and piles of canvas that lined the walls of the old utility shed, brandishing a bottle of something. Zach’s eyes went wide when he saw it. “Chris! What are you doing! If you get caught—“

“Calm down, I swiped it from one of the bars as they were closing the reception down. It was already opened, so they’re paying for it anyway.” He handed the bottle over.

“La Grande Année Bollinger,” Zach read, “1992. Is that fancy?”

Chris shrugged. “Fuck if I know, it was free.” He grabbed it back and took a big swig, half of which ran down his face. “Tastes OK to me.”

Zach took it back. “I’m sure it’s not meant to be drunk from the bottle.”

Chris rolled his eyes and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Well, I didn’t have time to procure the finest crystal stemware, Zachary. Drink up.”

There had been an afternoon wedding reception at the yacht club, and Zach had gotten Chris a job for the day as a cater waiter. Now the party was over and they came to this old shed on the pier, where most nights they’d drink or smoke weed after Zach’s shift was over. The double doors faced west, and afforded them a spectacular view of the sunset. Zach sat down on a pile of canvas, and Chris followed, curling up beside him. They passed the bottle back and forth until it was gone, alternately kissing and watching as the sun dipped beneath the horizon. 

“I can’t believe the summer’s almost over,” Chris said glumly, laying his head over Zach’s chest. He liked to listen to Zach’s heart, he said. Zach liked the weight of it there, it awakened something protective inside him.

“Well, it was bound to happen,” Zach said, setting the bottle aside. “No one’s immune to the passage of time.”

Chris raised his head and looked at him. “I’m supposed to be the philosophical one.”

“Guess you’re rubbing off on me.”

They kissed, slowly at first, sweetly, but soon things picked up and Chris was straddling him. He pushed himself up with his hands on Zach’s chest, both of them panting. “Zach,” he said.

“No, come here,” Zach replied, pulling on his wrist. There was a quality in Chris’s eyes just then, something more than teen lust, something like fire, and it scared him. 

Chris shook his head. “I wanna be with you.”

“You are.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “No, I wanna _be with_ you. I want you to be my first.”

Zach’s breathing stopped. They’d fooled around all summer—a couple handjobs here and there—but he guessed Chris didn’t consider that sex. “Chris, I don’t _have_ anything for that. I mean, condoms or whatever.”

“I brought.”

“Aren’t you the boy scout.”

“Come on, it’s our last night together. I leave for home tomorrow.”

“I know. Are you sure?”

He nodded, said, “Yeah,” but he wasn’t looking at Zach.

Zach tightened his grip on Chris’s wrist. “Are you _sure_?”

When Chris looked at him, his eyes were so bright, so blue, that Zach felt like he was under a spell. He couldn’t have looked away if he wanted to. “As sure as anyone can be about anything. I love you, I want it to be you.” 

“I don’t know if I deserve this,” Zach said, gaping at him in awe.

“You most certainly do not,” Chris replied with a grin, all seriousness set aside once more. It was a relief. 

Afterwards, they lay in a sweaty pile on some old Mexican blanket Zach had found. Zach cradled Chris as if he was something precious, and Chris traced lazy circles on Zach’s skin with his forefinger. 

“Does it always hurt like that?” Chris asked. There had been tears, on both sides. Zach had only ever done it once before—had usually just traded blow jobs with other guys—and had almost called it off twice, but Chris wanted to keep going. It wasn’t very good, and Zach had come almost as soon as he was inside Chris, but they had done it. Together.

“I don’t think so, or else why would people keep doing it?”

“Yeah, I suppose so.” He twisted around so he could place his ear over Zach’s heart again, facing away. “You didn’t say it yet,” he murmured.

“Say what?”

“You know.”

Zach did know, and he knew what it meant that he hadn’t. “Those words aren’t enough somehow,” he said. “But I love you too.” 

He could feel Chris grinning, he thought, against the bare skin of his chest. “You’d better. You’re gonna marry me someday.”

“Men can’t do that, silly.”

“They used to say that about the moon. Now they’re building space stations.”

“Look at you, all filled with optimism.”

He raised his head, smiled that crooked smile that made Zach’s heart race. “I’m young, I’m supposed to be.”


	8. Back to the Present

When Chris arrived at the Montauk Yacht Club, a leather duffel over his shoulder, he felt weirdly buoyant. Zach was here. Sure, he had just had Chris declared dead so he could marry some fetus, but he was _here_.

“Has Mr. Quinto arrived?” Chris asked at the front desk. 

“Yes,” the girl replied after looking briefly in her computer. “He and his husband checked in twenty minutes ago.”

“I’m an old friend of his—practically brothers. I don’t suppose you could tell me what room?” Chris smiled at her, one of the thousand watt ones that used to get him anything he wanted back in the day. 

“I’m not supposed to.” Chris pouted extravagantly, and it seemed to do the trick. She smiled sympathetically at him. “But if you happened to walk along the perimeter of the hotel, you may be able to see into the private villas. Who knows who you might bump into?”

Chris grinned his thanks and left his bag with a bellman.

When he spotted Zach from the beach, he nearly went to him. But then Vanderpool emerged from inside the house, looking young and blond and perfect, and Chris lost his nerve. He thought Zach saw him, but he couldn’t be sure. It would be better to bide his time, he thought, so he went to the hotel bar.

When they first met and Zach tended bar here, Chris would sit on a barstool in the corner, near the little private room, to watch him. It ought to have been boring, but the white shorts that were part of the staff uniform fit Zach particularly well, and his legs were tanned and toned, so the visual distraction was entertainment enough. Zach would serve Chris—who was only 19 at the time—rum and Cokes and charge them as soft drinks. It was the drunkest, sexiest summer he had ever spent. 

Chris didn’t have to wait long before he spotted Zach and his new husband as they were ushered to a table in the dining room, joining Zach’s in-laws. It was the best table in the room—suitable for American royalty, which was what the Vanderpool family was. 

Preston Vanderpool would have been a success even without the family money. He’d taken Vanderpool Industries from a respectable US company—just missing the Fortune 500 by a few slots each year—to a multinational Global 100 corporation with holdings all over the world. His wife Constance was his partner in all things, using her own wits and intelligence to support him and his business. To be in her good graces was to be admitted to the highest echelons of society; more than a few of Preston’s business deals were closed because the businessmen’s wives craved a seat at Constance’s table at the Met Gala. Together, they raised four sons, of which Andrew Prescott Vanderpool was the third born. Openly gay since graduating from Trinity, he was a frequent feature in the tabloids, who had had a field day with all the wild sex romps and other indiscretions in his past. Or so Chris had found in his research on the ride out here using the smartphone Joe had lent him.

So they were your basic nightmare.

Chris watched as the family greeted one another. Zach, always affable and able to charm the socks off anyone, stood stiffly as he spoke to Constance. She in turn regarded Zach with the sort of disdain reserved for cockroaches. Andrew and his father appeared to take it in stride, clearly used to the woman’s prejudices. Chris disliked her immediately.

When they were settled, Chris wandered over to the hostess stand and asked for a copy of the wine list. He smiled when he spotted a particular vintage. “May I send a bottle of the Bollinger 1992 to the Vanderpools’ table?” he asked the hostess. 

“Certainly, sir,” she replied. “Who shall I say it’s from?”

“They’ll know.”

“Whose room?”

“Mr. Quinto.”

“All right.”

All he had to do was sit and wait in the private room. His heart felt like it had taken up residence in his throat, but he forced himself to stay perfectly still. When at last Zach appeared in the doorway, his face was at first stern, almost angry. When he saw Chris, it softened, his eyes shining with sudden emotion. Chris stood, intending to meet him halfway, but his legs had turned to jelly and it was all he could do to lock his knees to prevent himself from falling over. When Zach took him into his arms and kissed him, it was as if the long years that had separated them had fallen away. Zach’s lips were exactly as he’d remembered them, the scratch of his one o’clock shadow against Chris’s face a welcome discomfort. Chris nearly wept when their lips parted, but the heaving in both their chests meant they needed the space to breathe.

“Oh,” Zach said, shining eyes taking in every detail of Chris’s face as he brought a shaking hand up to touch his cheek.

“That’s all I wanted to know,” Chris said, surprised he had given voice to his greatest fear—that Zach was somehow over him. 

“It is you, isn’t it? It really is?”

“Yes, yes.”

Zach kissed him again, their noses mashing together inelegantly.

“Hey fellas, I appreciate your, uh, _ardor_ , but could you keep the touching above the waist?”

Chris jumped when the bartender spoke, realizing with embarrassment he’d been squeezing Zach’s ass. 

“Sorry,” they both mumbled, stepping apart. 

Chris gestured to the table he’d been sitting at. “Want to, uh—“

“Yeah.” 

They clasped hands over the top of the table. “When? How?” Zach asked.

“Well, you know about the crash. We’d been flying pretty low when we were struck by lightning. It hosed all the instruments and we started to go down. Luckily, good old Al was able to keep the nose up—I think that’s the only way we survived.”

“Al? We?”

“The pilot. We both survived the wreck, though I still don’t understand how. The next thing I knew, I woke up face down on a beach somewhere. My leg was pretty torn up, but Al patched me up. Still gives me trouble when it rains.”

Zach squeezed his hands and closed his eyes. “Oh my God, what you must have gone through!”

“My every thought was of you and the kids, Zach, and of getting home to our family.”

“And here you are.” Zach pulled one of Chris’s hands to his mouth and kissed his knuckles. “I can hardly believe it.”

A phone rang somewhere and the bartender answered. “Hey, one o’ you two Quinto?” he called out to them, his hand over the mouthpiece.

“I am,” Zach said, turning in his seat to face the man.

“Your husband’s been looking for you.” He removed his hand from the phone to speak into it, “Yeah, he’s here in the back bar.

Zach turned back around and looked at Chris guiltily.

“You'll have to face it, you know,” Chris said.

“Yes, I know. What do I say?”

“That depends on what you feel.”

“I want to do the right thing by everybody.”

“All right then, do the right thing.”

“It’s not as easy as all that. I mean, Drew, he’s… well, he’s kind of high maintenance, and his parents…”

“Ah, I see.” 

“Just think of how this will affect him, it’ll be a terrible shock. Consider who he is, his position.”

“Are you in love with him?” Chris asked gently. Zach looked down at their joined hands and said nothing. “Come on, you must have told him you were, didn’t you?”

“Well...”

“Sure, you did,” Chris said with an encouraging smile.

“All right. Yeah, I did.”

“I can’t believe you!” Chris exclaimed, pulling his hands away.

“What?” The dismay on Zach’s face was immediate.

“The minute my back was turned!”

“The minute? Come on, Chris—“

Chris couldn’t continue to torture him; of course he found someone else to love. Zach was the kind of man who needed it. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, that was mean,” he laughed.

“It _was_ mean. Come on, don't kid, Pine, this is too serious.”

“Aww,” Chris said, instantly regretting playing with him. He rose and gave him a hug, planting a kiss on his ear for good measure.

“Zach? Babe?”

“Drew?” Zach pushed himself away from Chris as if he’d been burned and stood up. “There you are.”

“There _you_ are. I’ve been looking for you—my parents are waiting.”

“Oh, ummm…” Zach looked at Chris with a desperate expression in his eyes.

“Sorry for keeping him from you… Drew, is it? I’m, uh, Pino. An old friend of Zach’s from the old neighborhood.” He rushed forward with a hand outstretched.

“Old friend?” Drew repeated, taking Chris’s hand.

“Da Burgh!” Chris said with a grin, pumping Drew’s hand up and down enthusiastically. “We go way back—to middle school even. Zach and me, we, uh, got confirmed together!”

“Really?” Drew said to Zach.

“You know how catechism can bond people,” Zach said lamely.

“Not really, I’m a Unitarian.”

“Well, I’m sure you all have similar, uh, things.” Chris dropped Drew’s hand and winced as his accent morphed from something kinda-sorta Pittsburghian into something more like a _Sopranos_ extra; it was a mess but he didn’t think Drew noticed. “So this is the new boy-toy, eh Quints? You order him out of the International Male catalog?”

“Husband, actually,” Drew said, raising his left hand to display the ring. “We just got married this morning.”

“Oh? Congratulations. Many happy returns and et cetera.”

“Thank you.”

“So listen Drew, sorry to be hogging your new hubby and all, but I needed to talk to him about something important.”

“Important and _personal_ ,” Zach said, giving Chris a warning look.

“You see, uh, I’ve been a little down on my luck lately, and uh… well, my wife? Donna?” Chris let his voice rise an octave, and since his emotions were already on the surface, he didn’t find it difficult to conjure up tears; he’d hate himself later. “She’s real sick, you know, _real sick_ , and I was hoping my buddy Zach here could help, you know? With a job reference or something? You know?”

“Oh, I do know,” Drew said compassionately, taking Chris’s hand again. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Who?”

“Donna.”

“Oh. They say it’s the cancer. Of her, uh…” Chris gestured vaguely at his own torso as Drew’s eyes widened.

“Oh, you poor man!” he said, pulling Chris to him for a hug. “Zachary, is there anything you can do for poor Pino?”

“Yeah, whatta ya say there, Quints?” Chris asked, winking at Zach over Drew's shoulder. “Do an old friend a solid?”

“Well, I don’t know, _Pino_ , what is it you do again?”

“You know, dis and dat. Dese and doze. Odd jobs.”

“He’ll find you something,” Drew said, releasing Chris from the hug. “He’s always helping people out, aren’t you, baby?”

“I’m sure I will be able to help out my _old friend_ ,” Zach purred, a sweet smile on his face. _I am going to kill you!_ he mouthed to Chris as soon as Drew’s head was turned.

“Well then, that’s settled. Will you join us for dinner later, Pino?”

“I would love to,” Chris said with a glimmer in his eye he directed at Zach, who looked like he was hoping for the earth to open and swallow him whole.

Drew beamed at him. “Terrific! Where are you staying?”

“Why, I haven’t found a room yet—I only just got here on the Jitney.”

“Then you must stay with us. We’ve got one of the private villas here at the resort. It’s got three bedrooms, what are we going to do with all of them?”

“I couldn’t possibly,” Chris said.

“See? He couldn’t possibly,” Zach pointed out. 

“There’s a Super 8 up the road—I’ll just stay there.”

Drew looked like he’d just suggested sleeping on a park bench. “I insist,” Drew said with finality. 

“He insists,” Chris said to Zach with a grin.

“Then who am I to refuse?” Zach replied with murder in his eyes.

“Hurray!”


	9. That Evening

_DING-DONG_

Zach’s gut churned as he strode through the front hall to answer the door of the villa. Lunch with the Vanderpools had been the wrong side of miserable for him, knowing what was coming and what he must do. And here it was in the person of his still-alive husband, ringing his doorbell and reminding him he would soon have to break a heart.

He opened the door and his heart clenched in his chest; the sight of Chris was still enough to make him weak in the knees. 

“Hello, lover,” Chris greeted with a smile. He leaned indolently against the doorway, holding yet another bottle of champagne. He was dressed in the palest pink chambray button down, which highlighted his tan and made his blue eyes pop. Zach noticed that most of the laugh lines around his eyes were now permanently etched, no doubt the aging process had been facilitated by the elements during his seven years in the wilderness. It only served to make him more beautiful.

“Stop calling me that.”

“You used to love it.”

“I used to do a lot of things, like not contemplate murder.”

Chris strolled over the threshold and patted him on the cheek before making a beeline for the kitchen. “Ooo, this is a nice place, I’ve never been inside before.”

“This one used to be a private residence,” Drew called from out on the deck. He stood in front of a grill moving a batch of clams he’d been cooking into a large serving bowl. “The resort acquired it back in the 60’s. I don’t know why I know that, ha-ha.”

“The silly things we remember!” Chris called out to him. “Like the fact we’re already married to someone else,” he added in a voice only Zach could hear.

“Behave,” Zach admonished him, pinching the underside of his right arm.

“Ouch.” Chris frowned, adding in a voice loud enough for Drew to hear, “I brought some more champagne to toast the happy couple!” 

“Terrific!” Drew said, entering from the deck. “Zach, honey, see if there are any appropriate glasses.”

“Yes, Zach honey. _Do_.”

Zach wanted to glare at Chris but Drew would have seen, so he searched in the cupboards for some flutes, only to find white wine glasses. 

“Oh well, they’ll have to do,” Chris said as he reached for a towel to use to twist the cork out of the bottle.

“Oh, that’s the same vintage we had at lunch, isn’t it?” Drew observed.

“Is it?” Chris said as he poured. “There’s something very familiar about it, though I can’t put my finger on it.”

“We served it at my first wedding,” Zach said. “Chris had a sentimental attachment to it.”

“That’s right, now I remember,” Chris said, handing out the glasses. “And now we shall use it to toast your new marriage.” He held his glass up. “To the groom and groom.”

Drew clinked glasses with them both. “You don’t think it’s bad luck or anything?”

“Why should it be? Zach and his first husband were so happy together.”

“Yes, we were,” Zach said quietly, sipping his wine.

“Until such an unspeakable tragedy happened. I don’t know how you survived it, Zachary.”

“Just barely,” Zach gritted out.

“Did you know Chris, then, Pino?” Drew asked.

“Not well. He was a lovely man, though. So kind. And _forgiving_.”

“Though not without his flaws,” Zach added. “He sometimes didn’t know when to _let things lie_.”

“Well, that’s hardly a flaw, more like a foible.” Drew said. 

“I agree,” Chris said, but he looked like he had taken Zach’s hint that he was pushing it a little too far. “Look at these glorious clams, I’m starved!”

Dinner passed less eventfully. Drew made steaks and they ate on the deck, where they remained afterward, seated around a conversation pit. Zach took the single chair, leaving Chris and Drew to choose their own seating. Chris took the chaise opposite Zach; Drew sat at the end of the couch adjacent to Zach. 

Zach poured them all some more wine and sat back in his chair, staring out over the water watching the boats come into the marina as the sun set. Drew removed one of his shoes and began to rub his toes playfully up Zach’s ankle, making him jump.

“Tell me how you two met,” Chris asked, his eyes dark in the low light.

“Oh, that’s a boring story,” Zach tried to pre-empt, but Drew went with it.

“It is, ‘tis true. Zach is my father’s lawyer, and we met when he was first assigned to the account, I guess it was about five years ago?”

“A little over six,” Zach supplied.

“That’s right, it was the summer before I started college. I had _such a crush_ , though I don’t think you ever noticed.”

“He noticed. Zach is a very observant person.”

“I remember it was right after you came back from South America. I guess—“ Drew frowned unhappily and covered his mouth with his hand. “It must have been right after you came back from searching for Chris. Oh, I never really realized it.”

“It was my third time down there,” Zach said, recalling the painful ordeal. The search for the missing plane had taken months, and the last time Zach went to Peru, they’d finally found the wreck on the ocean floor—with no sign of any of the four passengers. “We found the black box, but that was about it.”

“So I wouldn’t blame him for not really remembering a dorky kid tagging along after one of his clients,” Drew said.

“I don’t think you were ever dorky,” Chris said to him. 

“Maybe not, but he still wouldn’t give me the time of day until I came back from spending a year abroad.”

“When was that?”

“Is it that important?” Zach said, fearing where this line of conversation would go.

“Probably not,” Chris allowed.

“How did you two meet, Pino?” Drew asked Chris. “And isn’t ‘Pino’ and odd name—is it a nickname?”

“Oh, it’s Italian. Short for _pignoli_.”

“Like the nut?”

“It’s also a cookie—kind of like a bit of shortbread with the nuts on top? Couldn’t get enough of ‘em when I was younger.” Chris’s eyes glittered at Zach, who took a sip of red wine. “Love having those Italian nuts in my mouth.”

Zach coughed, spluttering into his glass. 

They chatted a while longer, until Drew stood up, yawning and stretching extravagantly. “Well, it’s been a super-long day, so I think I’ll head up.” He gave Zach a meaningful look, but Zach ignored it, instead pouring himself another glass of wine. 

“Goodnight, then,” Chris said with a wide smile.

“Goodnight, babe,” Zach added.

With a mildly crushed, last look at Zach, Drew went inside.

Zach and Chris stared at each other for a long minute, sipping their wine. “You know, I've got a feeling  
you're enjoying my misery,” Zach said at last. 

“Only a little,” Chris said with a smile. “You gonna tell him?”

“Of course, I just need to… pick the right time. He’s a good kid.”

“Oh yeah, sure, a great kid. Is that why you were attracted to him? Playmate for Leo and Teeny?”

“That remark’s beneath you.”

“It’s really not. Not today. Not on your wedding day.”

“There’s never been anyone for me but you.”

“I bet you say that to all your husbands.”

“Oh, I could strangle you.”

“Now that's a way out.”

Zach sighed. “I just can't barge in and say, ‘Sorry, my mistake. Marriage is off,’ can I? It has to be handled properly.”

“Sure it does, his old man’s your biggest client.”

Zach bit his lip and counted to ten. He could understand where Chris was coming from, why couldn’t Chris do the same? “This is a unique situation!”

“It is,” Chris said agreeably. “And I’m going to help you out of it.” He stood and gestured for Zach to join him; Zach groaned and got to his feet. “There, now! We’re going to do a role play.”

“Aw, Chris! What am I, an idiot?”

“Come on, let’s just try it!” He crossed over to take the same seat Drew had been in earlier. “I’ll be Drew, and you’ll be you. Now come in.”

Zach stared at him uncomprehendingly.

Chris made shooing gestures. “Go on out and come in, like you’re coming to talk to me.”

Zach dragged his feet over to the edge of the deck, mumbling the whole way. He turned around to face Chris. 

“Now, you come in,” Chris prompted. 

“I don’t know about this.”

“Come on, _come in_!”

Zach stomped over like an angry toddler. “All right, I'm in.”

“Now say something.”

“Hello, Drew.”

“Oh, that's good. Now, he'll say, I mean, _I’ll_ say, ‘Dude, where you been, I’m totally bummed out you just left me flat, broheim.’”

“He doesn't talk like that, and you know it.”

“What's the difference? And then he'll say, ‘Duuuude, let’s booooone.’”

“I’m not going to do this if you won’t be serious, Chris.”

“OK, fine, we’ll try it again. From the top.”

Zach opened his mouth to speak.

“From the _top_! Go out and come in again!”

Wondering what the hell he ever did to deserve this, Zach complied, returning to his mark and turning to face Chris. Taking a deep breath, he marched over. “Hello, Drew, there’s something I must say to you.”

Chris looked up at him, blinking rapidly. “Yes? My darling Zachary?” 

“What are you doing?”

“Aren’t you going to kiss me?” Chris asked, fluttering his eyelashes some more.

“What?”

More fluttering. And puckering.

“Oh fer chrissakes,” Zach muttered as he bent over, hauled Chris to his feet with an arm around his waist, and kissed him. When he let him go, they were both panting for breath.

“Well, if you do it _that_ way, you’ll never get around to telling him,” Chris said.

“Will you shut up for just one minute?” Zach asked, pulling him close. Kissing Chris was always like an adventure. He responded with his entire body, molding himself to Zach, melting against him. The familiar feel and smell and sound of him awakened something in Zach, something long dormant. Zach was instantly hard—Chris too—and they were soon grinding against each other.

“No,” Chris said suddenly, his hands pushing weakly against Zach’s shoulders.

“Huh?”

“We shouldn’t. Not with Drew like twenty feet away.”

“Our bedroom’s on the other side of the house.”

Chris pushed him again, and Zach relented. “It’s still not right—I wouldn’t feel right about fooling around with him right there.”

Zach glanced up at the second floor of the house, as if he could see Drew through all the walls and windows. “You’re right,” he said, and if he kept saying it, maybe he’d believe it. “You’re right.” He took three steps away from Chris, surreptitiously trying to adjust himself in his pants. “I should go tell him.” He didn’t move.

“Well, don’t rush into it, give some thought into what you might say,” Chris said dryly.

Zach gave him a dirty look before wiping the drool from his chin and walking into the house. 

The walk to the master suite was longer and shorter than it should have been. Zach walked slowly, rehearsing what he might say.

“Now, Drew, there’s a situation that’s come up. 

“No, that’s no good. Now listen Drew, this hurts me more than it hurts you.

“Oh, that's no good. Start all over again.

“Now, Drew... Drew… baby… Something's come up. My husband. Yeah. No.

“Listen, Drew, truth is stranger than fiction. This is the situation. Something's come up. My husband.”

He shook his head. 

“Think of the children! That might work. No.

“Even a tiger fights for its young! Yeah, that's good. Primal or something.”

He paused when he reached the door to the bedroom. When he walked in, the lights were off and there were a multitude of candles lit all over the place—they smelled like vanilla.

“Drew?” he called out, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

“There you are,” Drew said. He walked toward Zach from the shadows, slowly. He was wearing a satin, leopard-print robe and nothing else; he had a matching one slung over his forearm. Zach’s eyes boggled. “You like it?”

No, Zach did not. It was perhaps the tackiest thing he’d ever seen.

“Isn’t it ironically awesome?”

_Ah._

“Here, I got you one too. Put it on.” Drew reached for Zach, untucking his shirt from his pants and trying to unbutton it.

Zach batted his hands away, and Drew draped the robe around Zach’s shoulders, using the lapels to draw him in close, kissing his throat. “Now look Drew, something has come up.”

Drew slid a hand down to cover Zach’s crotch. “I’m glad to hear it!”

“Eep! Hang on!” Zach jumped back, away from him. “Think of the children!”

Drew closed the gap between them, embracing Zach again and kissing him beneath his ear. “They’re not here.”

“This is going to hurt me more than it does you,” Zach said weakly.

“Oooo, kinky! But only if you want it to, baby,” Drew purred in his ear. “Now let’s bone.” He took Zach’s face between his two hands and moved in closer, mouth open and eyes closed.

Suddenly, the thought of kissing anyone other than Chris was the most abhorrent thing Zach could imagine. Once more, he jumped back, leaving Drew grasping at air. “NOW LOOK HERE, DREW, SOMETHING HAS COME UP,” he said loudly. 

Drew looked at him, shocked. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Zach made a break for the door. “I, er, uh, um… I think I left the fire pit lit.”

“This house doesn’t have a fire pit!”

“Well, you can never be too careful. Only you can prevent forest fires, you know.” He opened the door and stepped through. “Or something.” He slammed the door shut and stood for a moment leaning against it, his hand on the knob. “Jesus Christ, what is this, a French farce?” he muttered.

When he went downstairs, Chris was sitting in the great room, tossing M&Ms up in the air and catching them in his mouth. “Are you still eating?” Zach asked.

“I have a lot to catch up on. Did you know these things came with pretzels inside?” He gave Zach the once over, taking in his rumpled appearance and the ridiculous robe still hanging from his shoulders, and put the candy bag down. “How’d it go?”

“It didn’t.”

Chris said nothing, just looked at Zach as if he’d disappointed him.

“These things have to be handled delicately, Chris. I couldn’t just _say it_. I have to work up to it, I need time.”

Chris stood, shaking his head. “No, you know who needs time? Me. I do, I need time. I need the time I lost back, I need to watch our children grow, and take Leo to tee ball, and see Teeny take her first steps. Goddammit, I don’t even know her real name, Zach.”

“It’s Christina Whitelaw Pine.” 

He watched Chris’s eyes fill with tears. “Really?”

“You think I’d name her after anyone but you?”

“I need to go.” He headed for the door.

“No, please,” Zach said, following. Chris opened the door as Zach caught its edge with one hand, holding it where it was, half-opened. 

“I should have known better than to think things would just go back to normal,” Chris said, tears now falling. “I was an idiot to think you’d just be waiting.”

“You have to understand—when that plane went down, I searched for you. For over a year, but they said survival was impossible. I searched, Chris.” 

“But you gave up.” 

“I had to move on.”

“I think I get that. But _I didn’t_. Will you let me through, please?” 

Zach looked at the door, at the way his knuckles had gone white as he gripped it so tightly his arm shook. And he looked at Chris, who was shaking, but there was nothing Zach could do for it. He let go of the door and reached for his husband. “Chris—“ 

Chris pulled away before he could touch him. “I’m going to go now. Back to the home we built together. To our children. You can sort this out however you need to.” With that, Chris walked out the door and back toward the main resort. 

Zach bowed his head. “How did things get so fucked up?” he asked nobody. 


	10. Morning in Park Slope

“Who wants chocolate chips in their pancakes?” Chris asked.

“Me, me, me!” the children sang happily.

“Me, me!” Joe added.

Chris laughed and shook his head, turning back to the stove to heat the skillet.

He had caught the last Jitney back from Montauk the night before, arriving here after midnight. Joe, thankfully, was still awake and willing to listen to Chris’s tale of woe with a sympathetic ear. They were up past three, but Chris didn’t sleep very well on the lumpy old Futon in his old study on the third floor. Joe was already in the guest room, and Chris couldn’t have taken his old bed—explaining it to the kids wasn’t something he thought any of them were ready for. The noise in the city was almost overwhelming to his senses. So when he heard the _clomp-clomp_ of energetic children’s feet and the _click-click-click_ of Noah’s nails on the hardwoods, he gave sleep up for lost and emerged. The kids were shy around him at first, but when he offered to make pancakes, they warmed right up. 

It was a surprise he remembered the old pancake recipe his grandmother had taught him years ago—he was just a little out of practice, but the batter came together well, and he was happy to see his old cast iron skillet had survived to see this day, looking well-taken care of. Joe and the kids decided to squeeze oranges to make juice, and Chris watched with growing amusement as more of the juice seemed to make it onto their pajamas than into the pitcher. Chris was happy to have coffee anyway—from a real machine, not the instant they had on the freighter, and it tasted like heaven after seven years without. He almost couldn’t wait to take a trip into Manhattan to go to Oren’s, but there’d be plenty of time for that later. For now, he was going to have to figure out the way back into his life.

When the pancakes were done, and the oranges done-for, they all sat down to breakfast. Chris sipped his coffee and helped himself to a few pancakes once everyone else had been served. 

“Don’t you want syrup on yours?” Leo asked him, as he took a big bite.

Chris looked down on his plate. “Nah, I never really cared for maple syrup much.”

“Just like Teeny.” 

Chris glanced over, intrigued, to see his daughter eating hers without anything on them.

“You know what goes better on them than syrup? Whipped cream,” Chris said. He got up and fetched a can from the refrigerator.

“Dad never lets us,” Leo said excitedly as he sprayed whipped cream haphazardly first onto his sister’s plate and then his own.

“You’re spoiling them?” Joe observed.

“Yes.”

He grinned. “Good.”

After breakfast, there was much discussion about what to do for the day. In the end, the zoo won out over the natural history museum. Walking through the butterfly exhibit—the kids running ahead—Chris was surprised to find himself feeling calmer than he had in two weeks. He took a deep breath and held his arms outstretched for a moment, reveling.

“Something wrong?” Joe asked, looking amused. “Or right?”

Chris smiled. “I think it’s this space—lots of trees and birds and things. Reminds me of the island.”

“I guess being back to civilization’s going to take some adjustments.”

“That, and getting my family back. I… I hardly know what to do, Joe.”

“You’ll do fine.”

“Yeah? How do you know?”

“You always do.”

Chris wished he had Joe’s confidence.

By the time they got home, the rain that had been threatening all day finally started, so the plans to go to the playground had to be scrapped in favor of indoor activities. 

“Oh my God, you beat me again!” Chris exclaimed as Teeny once more owned him at ConnectFour.

“You know, you don’t have to let her win,” Joe said. He was over by the stove cooking up Sunday Gravy on a Saturday. It was, after all, a special occasion.

“I’m not, she’s just that good!” She laughed delightedly as she hit the button on the bottom of the game that discharged all the checkers. 

“You know who was good at board games?” Joe said. “Your daddy, Chris.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. He used to trounce your dad at chess on the regular.”

“No way!” Leo said, looking up from his spot in the window seat, where he had been reading a book. 

Chris leaned forward conspiratorially. “I think he may have won once, and that was only because your daddy was sick.”

“Did you know him? Our daddy?” Teeny asked. Her blue eyes shone with curiosity. Leo also looked like he was interested, but was trying to keep it to himself.

Chris nodded. “We used to play all the time.”

“Before he drowneded?”

“Course, silly, no one plays chess after they drown!” Leo said.

“Sometimes they can,” Chris said, seeing an opening to broach the topic. “I mean, if they're not really drowned, and people just think they are, but they're not, get it?”

“Our daddy wouldn't do anything silly like that. Talk after he drowned—that’s ridiculous.”

Chris deflated. “Yes, I suppose so.”

Over by the stove, Joe shook his head. “You’re gonna have to try harder than that, man.”

A moment later, there was a noise at the front of the house as the door opened. Noah ran out of the kitchen with an excited bark—Zach was home.

“Dad!” Leo said excitedly, and he and Teeny ran to the front as well, books and games and new friends forgotten.

Chris went to stand in the doorway, watching as Zach greeted his children in the front hall. Drew stood behind him, watching uneasily. Chris wondered if he had no affinity for children, or if there was something else going on. Either way, the fact he was with Zach now did not bode well for the state of affairs.

“Look at that, he brought him home,” Chris said to Joe.

Joe came to watch from over Chris’s shoulder as Zach picked Teeny up and twirled her around the living room. “I guess he didn’t tell him.”

“I guess not.”

“Perhaps it's better if you weren't here.”

“Why should I leave?”

“Well, it’ll be a bit awkward.”

“Awkward’s my middle name.”

“No, your middle name’s a lot worse than that,” Joe teased, returning to the stove as Chris walked through to the front room.

“Hail, the conquering hero has returned,” Chris said.

Zach looked at him as if he didn’t quite believe he’d still be there. A moment later, Leo was pulling on his arm, and he leaned over for a hug.

“Pino, what a surprise,” Drew said. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. How is Donna?”

“Who?”

“Your wife? Who’s sick?”

“Oh! Yes, her. She’s, uh, well. As well as can be expected.”

“She’s all right without you?”

“She’s very independent—gets along fine without me.”

“She’s better than me. Just one night away from this one’s enough to drive me crazy.” He pointed at Zach with a thumb.

“Really?”

Drew nodded. “He slept on the couch last night. It’s why we came back early—he said he wasn’t feeling well, had a migraine.” He glanced at Zach giving Teeny a piggy-back ride around the living room. “Guess he’s over it.”

“Guess so. So you guys are just in time for dinner—Joe’s making a batch of the famous Quinto Family Sunday Gravy.”

Drew smiled. “Oh, terrific, I love that stuff. He never wants to share the recipe.”

“You have to be related by blood to get it, I think.”

“What about marriage?”

Chris shrugged. “Only sometimes. Think I’ll take Noah for a run.”

“In the rain?”

“Oh, weather hardly bothers me anymore,” Chris said and went upstairs to change.


	11. Later That Afternoon

Zach was ashamed of the relief he felt when Chris left with Noah on a leash. All he wanted was for this ordeal to be over so they could get on with finding their way back together. But Chris’s presence had the unfortunate side effect of reminding him of his ongoing failure to clue poor Drew in on what was going on.

He wandered through to the kitchen while the kids went to watch TV and Drew went upstairs to unpack his suitcase—they had planned to move more of his stuff in here when they got back from Montauk, so all he had was what he’d brought along on the trip. They’d dated for six months before Zach popped the question, and in his typically efficient way, Zach saw nothing wrong with scheduling their civil ceremony on the same day his petition to declare Chris dead was being considered. It just made sense to him, and he hadn’t taken the time to consider the emotional impact of the decision. Drew, for his part, was just eager to get it done. They hadn't lived together—or even really slept together—because of the kids. Now Zach wondered if that was because he didn’t really want this at heart, if he was only doing it because it was what was expected. Drew did fill out a tuxedo well, and having a spouse—regardless of gender—was an important consideration for a partner at the law firm where Zach worked.

Now he wondered what he could have been thinking, and what kind of hubris allowed him to play so fast and loose with everyone’s emotions, Chris or no Chris.

“Making Sunday Gravy, eh?” Zach asked, moving over to the pot and removing the lid to take a sniff. There was nothing quite like it to remind Zach of home. Setting the lid down, he tore a piece of bread off a baguette on the counter and dunked it in to have a taste. “Needs sugar.”

“It needs nothing,” Joe said defensively. “So how was the Hamptons? Did you see Diddy? Or Billy Joel?”

“Please be quiet.”

“Not bloody likely. It’s a rare thing when The Prince makes _this big_ a mistake. I can hardly wait to call Mom.” 

“You wouldn’t dare!” Zach hadn’t considered what or when he’d tell his mother about Chris; she had loved him as if he was her own son, and had been devastated when he’d gone missing. Breaking the news to both sets of parents would have to be handled properly. “And don’t call me that, you know I hate it.” Zach was seven years younger than Joe, so as the baby in the Quinto family, he had admittedly gotten a lot more leeway growing up. 

“Sure thing, Your Highness.” He grinned and crossed over to where Zach stood, reaching behind him to grab a bottle of red wine that was on the counter. He talked as he walked over to the cupboard to retrieve glasses. “So what the hell, baby bro, what’re you doing bringing your twink home when your bona fide husband has turned out to be alive? You should be jumping for joy, not looking like a hunted criminal.” He handed Zach a glass of wine and poured one for himself.

“I _feel_ like a hunted criminal. I can’t face either of them. I can’t tell Drew about Chris, and I can’t be with Chris until I tell Drew. It’s like a Catch-22 from hell.”

“Catch-666. Well, I’m sorry to say you don’t have much choice in the matter, this situation you’re in is untenable.”

Zach pinched the bridge of his nose between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. “I know, I know.”

“Man up, Zachary.”

Zach sighed. “You’re right. I’ll go and tell Drew immediately.” He downed his wine with one gulp. “Liquid courage,” he said, and walked toward the kitchen door.

_DING-DONG_

“Oh! There’s the door, I’d better get it,” Zach said, rushing over to answer it. 

“Saved by the bell,” he heard Joe mutter before the door swung shut.

The man at the door was Asian, a little shorter than Zach, dressed in a fashionable suit and comfortable shoes. “Mr. Quinto?”

“Yes?”

“I tried calling you earlier today, but there was no answer, so I thought I’d come right over.” He spoke in clipped tones, his manner very serious and business-like.

“And you are?”

“My apologies.” He handed over a business card. “Cho, John Cho, with General American Global Mutual Insurance.”

“GAGMI?”

“I wanted to talk to you about the life insurance policy for your late husband.”

If Zach could have screamed internally, he would have. “P-policy?”

“Why yes, the one for $500,000? Whenever there’s a payout of that size, they like to pay a little bit of extra attention to it, you understand. To combat fraud.”

Zach didn’t understand, but he was grateful for the distraction. “Won’t you come in?”

“Thank you.”

Zach showed Cho to the front parlor and gestured for him to have a seat. “What can I do for you?”

Cho pulled a file out of the briefcase he carried, opened it, scanned a document inside it, nodded, and closed it. “Mr. Quinto, have you received any communication from your first husband... Christopher Whitelaw Pine?”

Somehow, admitting it to this man without telling Drew first seemed wrong. “No?”

Cho nodded. “No. Just as I expected. You see, our district manager, Mr. Greenwood, is a thorough man.” He looked Zach right in the eye. “A _very thorough_ man. He insists everything be checked twice, and then checked again.”

“What are you getting at, Mr. Cho?”

“Mr. Quinto, I wouldn’t like to shock you, but there seem to be reports of a man fitting the description of one Christopher Whitelaw Pine having been rescued by a Portuguese freighter from a very remote island in the Southeastern Pacific.”

Zach cleared his throat. “Is that… is that so?”

“He was accompanied by a woman by the name of Alice Sophia Eve, who was reportedly the pilot of the airplane upon which Christopher Whitelaw Pine was a passenger.”

“Would you mind repeating that?”

“Certainly. Alice Sophia Eve and Christopher Whitelaw Pine were reported to have been picked up by a freighter of Portuguese registry just under two weeks ago. The ship in question had been blown 200 miles off course by a storm, and was able to discern a habitation on an island that was not supposed to have been populated. Upon investigating, they encountered two stranded individuals, reported to be Alice Sophia Eve—“

“And Christopher Whitelaw Pine, yes thank you. All of that’s in that report of yours there?”

“It is.”

“You have a sworn affidavit then?”

“No, it is merely a verbal report, nothing more than that.”

“I see. Anything else?”

“It seems Mr. Greenwood was told that, when they picked each other up, the young woman called the man ‘Adam.’”

“Adam?”

“Adam.”

“That’s a far cry from Christopher Whitelaw Pine,” Zach pointed out. “What did he call her? Eve?”

“It is her name.”

“But I mean, ‘Adam and Eve,’ that’s a little on the nose, isn’t it?” Cho looked at him blankly. “You know, like in the Bible?”

“Ah, of course,” Cho deadpanned. “Adam and Eve. How delightful.”

“So this unsubstantiated report, what does it mean?”

“As it is unsubstantiated, very little. We must look into it, of course, and if it turns out to be accurate, we will be forced to take action.”

“What kind of action? You haven’t paid the claim yet.”

“We will pursue it to the fullest extent of the law.”

“Which extents? No fraud was knowingly perpetrated.”

Cho pressed his lips together.

“Mr. Cho, are you aware of just how recently a judge pronounced my husband deceased?”

“The file says yesterday.”

“Yes. And are you also aware we have two young children?”

Cho fidgeted. “I was not.”

“Now, if their father, missing since they were infants, had turned out to be alive all this time, don’t you think I would want them to know the happy news immediately? What cause would I have to damage my children in such a manner as to cover it up? What kind of man do you take me for?”

“I don’t take you as any kind of man, Mr. Quinto.” Zach raised an eyebrow and tried to look offended. “That is, I pass no judgment on your character in this matter, I am only presenting the facts as they were reported.”

“Facts as reported in an international game of telephone from what I’ve heard. Adam and Eve, I never heard of such a thing.”

Cho rose, looking agitated, and Zach followed suit. “I believe you have gotten the wrong idea about this matter, Mr. Quinto.”

“Have I?”

“No disrespect or insult to you or your family was intended, I was merely doing my job.”

Zach inclined his head magnanimously. “I understand.”

“Please accept my condolences for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

“And will you extend them to your children as well?”

“Sure.”

“Goodbye then, Mr. Quinto. I hope you have a lovely evening.”

“I’ll try,” Zach said before showing him to the door. When he had walked down the steps and hurried down the block, Zach let out an explosive breath and leaned back against the door. “Jesus tap dancing Christ, I am so screwed,” he said.

\----

Zach had never been good at poker. He had a great interest in it—the different games and attendant strategies, the psychology of it all, the thrill of high stakes—he had studied it all at one point. But he could never play effectively. Rather, he could not win, and that was because he was shit at hiding his emotions.

The day he proposed, he’d gone out of his way to make it special, spending a week’s salary on hiring a stupid horse and carriage, having their friend Zoë throw rose petals all over Chris’s dorm room bed. But all that planning went out the window, because Chris saw it in his face the minute Zach picked him up that night, saying yes before Zach even popped the question. 

Dinner that night, therefore, was a special ordeal for him. He was hiding so many things from so many of the people around the table he was surprised he hadn’t lost count. Between not knowing how breaking the news to the children would affect them, to dreading the emotional fallout when he told Drew about Chris, to wondering if he’d be on the hook for insurance fraud, he had quite enough on his plate. Perhaps Noah was the only member of the family that knew everything, and all he cared to do about it was lick his balls under the table. 

The fact Joe had made Sunday Gravy on a Saturday was a reason for festivity and general boisterousness—these days he’d only make it on special occasions like birthdays and Easter—and this did nothing to alleviate Zach’s anxiety. Chris, naturally, had picked up on it immediately, and had been watching Zach carefully with shrewd eyes. 

Chris helped Joe bring in the food, carrying a huge platter of pasta with sauce, sausage and meatballs out with two hands and setting it on the table. “Who wants some of this delicious spaghetti?” he asked. 

“Me, me, me!” Teeny said, hopping up and down in her chair enthusiastically.

Chris grinned and booped her on the nose, then grabbed the pasta fork and dished out a pile on a plate for her. “Sausage or meatball?” he asked.

“Meatball.”

Chris dropped one in the middle of the mound of pasta he’d given to her and placed the plate in front of her. “There you go. Mind you don’t lose that meatball, they can be wily suckers.”

“OK,” she said, eyeing it warily.

“Reminds me of my favorite song, actually,” Chris said. “Would you like to learn it?”

“Oh god, please don’t,” Zach said.

Chris grinned at him. “Come on, it’s a classic.”

Zach rolled his eyes as Chris led not only the children but Joe and Drew in a rousing rendition of _On Top of Spaghetti_ , all while continuing to dish out the pasta.

“Well that was fun,” Zach said in a tone of voice that meant the opposite.

Chris grinned at him as he took his seat, digging into his food with gusto. “You know you love it,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

He wasn’t wrong.

“So how was your day, kids?” Drew asked nervously, apropos of nothing. Zach knew he was trying to ingratiate himself with the kids, who at best had always been indifferent to his presence in Zach’s life, and at worst openly dismissive. They had decided to break the news of their wedding to the kids after the weekend was up, and then move Drew’s things in. Zach wasn’t sure if he was thankful for that or not.

“Pino took us to the zoo!” Teeny said, a bragging note in her voice. 

“Oh yeah? Did you see the lions and tigers and bears?”

She nodded. “And we had frozen lemonade, and funnel cakes, and rode on the merry-go-round.”

“That sounds like fun,” Zach said. “It’s so kind of you to treat the kids like that, Pino, what with all those other obligations you have at home.” Chris looked at him blankly. “You know, your wife? Eve?”

“Donna,” Drew corrected as Chris’s eyes met Zach’s. 

“Oh, that’s right.” He sipped his wine. “How could I have forgotten that _one important detail_.”

“You _are_ getting older, Zachary,” Chris said breezily. “Maybe it’s early onset dementia.” Zach’s eyes narrowed. “Good thing you’ll have Drew around to wipe the drool off your chin and dress you.”

“Oh, he’s not all that old,” Drew said, and patted Zach on the cheek, “though the vows did say ‘in sickness and in health,’ and that’s what I’m in for.” He leaned in to give Zach a chaste kiss on the lips.

Chris’s eyes glittered like twin pieces of glass. “How sweet.”

“More salad anyone?” Joe asked, deflating the tension.

The rest of dinner passed with not much more controversy, and before Zach knew it, Chris was volunteering himself and Leo to do the dishes, and Drew agreed to a ConnectFour match with Teeny. Zach slipped away to the study and pulled out his cell phone. 

“Yello.”

“Simon? It’s Zach, how are you?”

“Zach? What are you doing calling? I thought you were on your honeymoon.”

“I thought so too. Listen, I know it’s the weekend, but I was wondering if you were up to a little job for me?” Simon Pegg was the private investigator Zach’s law firm kept on retainer to help them on cases.

“Sure, what’s the job?”

Zach went to close the door to the study so he wouldn’t be overheard. The strains of another loudly-sung version of _On Top of Spaghetti_ could be heard coming from the kitchen. “I want you to locate someone by the name of Alice Eve for me.”

“Sure thing—you got a physical description?”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Shouldn’t be too difficult in any case. You want me to question her about anything? Is it for the Petersen case?”

“No, it’s a, uh, a personal matter. When you find her, don’t make contact, just let me know where she lives and what she’s doing.”

“No problem, though weekend rates would apply of course.”

“Of course.”


	12. Seven Years Ago, Again

Chris bent over the changing table, singing nonsense to his newborn daughter as he quickly and efficiently changed her diaper. “She’s so teeny tiny, Teeny’s tiny. From her fingers to her toes, so nice and shiny. Ask me who I love the best, tattoo her name upon my chest. I tell you boy, she is so teeny tiny!”

There was a laugh behind him and Chris glanced back at Zach with a smile. “Nice,” Zach said. “But you know, there will be no tattooing of names anywhere _until we choose one_. She needs to be baptized!”

“You mean your _mother_ wants her to be baptized,” Chris said. “Don’t tell me you care one way or the other.”

“You’re right, I don’t. But babe, she needs a birth certificate.”

Chris snapped the closures of Teeny’s tiny blue jeans closed and picked her up, cradling her in his left arm like a football. “And she’ll get one, just as soon as we agree on her name.”

“We did agree on a name—I thought it was going to be Emma?”

“No, you kept saying that before she was born, and I just got tired of fighting you on it. Wearing me down is not the same as securing my agreement.”

“Chris, we are not naming her Hazel, all the kids at school will make fun.”

“All the hundreds of kids named Emma, you mean? Come on, Zach, I want her to have a name as much as you do. The right one just hasn’t presented itself yet.” Chris was of the opinion that you couldn’t just name someone right off the bat, that their spirit needed to be understood first. 

“There you go again with the weird name revealing itself nonsense. You know, sometimes I am painfully reminded of your Californian upbringing.”

“It’s not nonsense. It worked for Noah.”

“It took you two months to name Noah!”

“Leo only took a day.”

“That’s because he looked like the 75-yr old man he was named for from day one.”

“Look, this is my process, OK? Besides, we’ll have plenty of time to argue about it when I get back from Peru. Right now, I’ve got to decide what equipment I’m packing.” He left the baby’s room and went up to the third floor, to his study where his equipment was kept. He used to have a darkroom set up in the basement, but he was strictly digital these days.

“I wish you wouldn’t go,” Zach said, pouting a little. 

Chris found it more than irritating. “We’ve been through this half a dozen times—I want to go. I need to. I’m floundering here.” Chris used to be very much in demand—editors at National Geographic, the Smithsonian, Audubon, and other publications were desperate to hire him. But Leo had been colicky as a baby, and Chris didn’t want to leave him; before long, the offers had dried up. This opportunity was the first serious one in six months, and he wasn’t about to lose out.

“I know, I get it,” Zach replied, actually sticking a lip out. “It’s just I miss you when you go.”

Chris waved a hand and said distractedly, “Absence. Hearts. Fonder. Here, hold this.” He pushed Teeny into Zach’s arms and tried to decide which tripod would pack better. 

Zach took a seat on the Futon and fussed with the baby. “Teeny, your daddy’s leaving us for two weeks to take a few pictures of indigenous peoples. Tell him how much we want him to stay.”

Chris sighed but did not turn around. “Teeny, tell you father the feeling of encroaching irrelevance is beginning to crush his husband’s spirit just a little bit.”

There was no other sound, just a shocked silence. When Chris had finished packing the equipment, he turned around to find Zach staring at him with a sleeping Teeny in his lap. There were tears in his eyes.

“Do you really feel that way? Irrelevant?”

“Only sometimes.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I’ve made my choices, and I’m happy with them. Most of the time.”

“But the thought of you… your spirit being crushed? That’s a heavy thing, Chris.”

“I’ll get over it.” He walked out of the room with this equipment bag slung over his shoulder, the tripod he’d chosen in his other hand.

“That’s not the answer, babe, we have to address this. What kind of relationship is this when one of us feels stifled in any way?” 

“I dunno, one like every other? My mom took time from her career to raise Katie and me, then she went back and got her doctorate. This is the same thing.”

“But not if you’re feeling irrelevant. And crushed.”

“A poor choice of words.”

“Chris—“

“Can we talk about this another time? I’m going on this assignment, aren’t I? It kind of negates the whole thing. I’ll come back feeling good as new. Can we talk about something else? What do you want for dinner?”

Zach, sensing an impending fight, bit his lip and said nothing more.


	13. Back to the Present Once More

Chris did a slow circuit of the third floor guest room that had once been his office. Photos he’d taken still adorned the walls and shelves—landscapes and wildlife studies that he was particularly proud of. He noticed a few of his personal items were gone, including the wedding photo of he and Zach together, the day they’d gotten legally married by a judge downtown. His framed degree from Berkeley was still in residence, however, sitting propped up against some books as usual. Nothing in the room had dust on it.

He could hear Joe putting the kids to bed on the second floor. They’d played games and sang boisterous songs with them until well past their bedtime. Drew had gone to bed early—the boy seemed prone to a lot of sudden migraines—and Chris had retreated up here as he had the night before. He was staring out the window at the fireflies winking and blinking in the park across the street when he heard the door open behind him.

“Daydreaming about Eve?” 

Chris turned to face Zach, whose expression was one of wounded self-importance. “Eve?”

“Eve! Eve! Adam and Eve! Why didn’t you tell me that ‘good old Al’ was a woman?”

“Because it wasn’t relevant?”

Zach wasn’t hearing him, he was already in full rant mode. “How is this going to look? My husband and a woman alone on an island for seven years!”

Chris smiled blandly; Zach was pretty cute when he got up a full head of steam, and any other emotion at this point would not go over well. “It’s not like we planned it, it just happened.”

“I’ll bet it did!”

“Oh my god, get that look off your face. I can’t believe we are back to this argument after more than fifteen years together. When will you get it through your thick skull that I have chosen to spend my life with you?” Zach’s insecurities about Chris’s bisexuality had been the source of many fights early in their relationship. “I thought we were past all this, but apparently not.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about her?”

“Because I knew you’d react like this.”

“That’s no excuse.”

“I wanted to pick the right time.”

“Is there ever a right time? I mean, seven years on an island, and you’re telling me she didn't fall in love with you?”

“Well, first of all, I had a broken leg for the first six months. Eve had to take care of me, but it’s not like anything could have happened.”

“OK, so what about the other six and a half years?”

This was getting tedious. “You know,” Chris said, “it occurs to me I ought to be insulted. I go through seven years of agony, I come home to find my husband in the arms of some Upper East Side brat, married! My children don’t know me, and it’s no wonder—there are no photographs of me anywhere in the house!”

“I—“

“And all you can harp on is whether I got it on with this woman? This mild-mannered gentlewoman who wouldn’t know how to throw a pass at anyone if you handed her a diagram?”

Zach narrowed his eyes, sensing he was losing ground. “Just a minute. Wait a minute, you’re changing the focus.”

“You’re damn right I’m changing the focus. Did you tell him?”

“Tell who?”

Refraining from shouting was difficult. “Drew! Did you tell Drew I’m your husband?”

“Well…”

“Well?” 

“I was about to.”

Chris was astonished. “How long does it take to tell a person, ‘My husband’s come back’? Look: I can say it in two seconds: ‘My husband’s come back.’ Double time: ‘Myhusband’scomeback! Myhusband’scomeback!’ 

“You’ve had two days, Zachary!”

Zach pressed his lips together and said nothing.

“I get it—you don’t want to. That’s why you’re picking on me about Al. Any excuse will do.”

“Babe, you can’t exactly blame me after hearing you shared that island with some hottie.”

“Hottie? Please.”

“Well, where is she?”

“How should I know, we haven’t seen each other since the boat.” Zach raised a disbelieving brow. “I think I heard she’s going to be on Good Morning America, maybe.”

“Maybe. Maybe she’ll tell the story about the handsome photographer that helped her stave off death and despair alone together on a deserted island for seven years. Oh god, I can see the headline in the Post now: ‘Island Hotties Tell-All!’”

“That’s the second time you’ve called me attractive in the last minute—you _do love me_!”

Zach ran his hands through his hair and made exasperated noises.

“Fine,” Chris said, capitulating. “Would you like to meet her? Then you can see for yourself she’s just a sweet person, there’s just no sexual anything there, like at all. She’s like my sister. My sweet, nerdy sister.”

“OK.”

“OK. Is there anything more you’d like to know?”

“When? When do I meet her?”

“When do you tell Drew?”

Zach sighed and gave up. “Good night.”


	14. Good Morning, Zach

The text from Simon, when it came, contained just two words: _The Plaza_. 

Zach didn't need to respond, he knew he’d get an invoice from Simon by the following morning, and that would be that. 

He rose from the couch in the basement family room where he’d spent the night and moved as silently as he could up the stairs to the second floor. It was early—just after 6:30—and he didn’t want to wake anyone. He stripped and started the shower so it’d get nice and hot while he brushed his teeth. He was just rinsing the shampoo from his hair when he felt a rush of cold air against his skin and a hand on his back.

He screamed like a cartoon woman spotting a mouse and whirled around. “Drew!” he spluttered as shampoo stung his eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Sorry if I startled, you, baby, but I missed you last night,” Drew said, moving in close for a kiss. Zach noted he was completely naked—who wouldn’t be when they entered a shower stall?—and tried to dodge out of the way, but found his escape thwarted by the tile wall behind him.

“I… I… I’m showering.”

“I see _that_ ,” Drew said with a wolfish smile and pressed his body against Zach’s, the water falling upon them warming their bodies. Drew dropped a hand and cupped Zach’s dick. “It’s so sexy, you all wet.”

“But, but, I, but—oooo!” Zach squealed as Drew’s other hand squeezed his ass, hard. 

“Yeah,” Drew breathed against Zach’s neck. “Did I bruise you, baby?”

“See here, I was taking a shower,” Zach said, pushing Drew away.

“Yes, we covered that.”

“And I… I n-need to go into Manhattan for business this morning. There’s no time. No time for,” he gestured vaguely at both their groins, “that.”

Drew’s features darkened with anger. “Well, when is there going to be time, Zachary, we’ve yet to even consummate this marriage. Every time I wake up in the middle of the night, you’re nowhere to be found.”

Zach shut the water off and opened the shower stall door, reaching for a towel and wrapping it around his waist. “It’s complicated.”

“What’s so complicated about two legally married adults sharing a bed? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I’ve just been, you know, busy the last few nights, until late. And by the time I’m tired, you’re already asleep. I don’t want to wake you.”

“You’re supposed to wake me, I’m your husband. And don’t think it hasn’t slipped my notice that the person you’ve been so ‘busy’ with is that Pino character. Where the hell did he come from anyway? You’ve never mentioned him even once before and suddenly he’s in our lives? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were in love with him.”

There it was, the out Zach wanted, the opportunity to come clean and explain about Chris. The one he didn’t take. 

His hesitation did not go unnoticed. “You _are in love with him_!!” Drew wailed, grabbing a robe from the back of the door and wrapping it around himself. He headed for the master bedroom, forcing Zach to follow.

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you look at him.”

“What way?”

“Like you’ve just come through a desert and he’s the oasis.”

“Don’t be… don’t be silly.” _Did he look at Chris that way?_ Probably. Chris had always been his sun, moon, and stars.

“I should have known this whole thing was too good to be true. We only dated for six months before you proposed. My mother said it was too soon but I told her I loved you. Now I see you’ve been pining for Pino all along.” 

“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Zach said. It was the truth: “pining for Pino” had to be the most idiotic series of syllables ever strung together. 

“How long has this been going on?”

“I haven’t seen him in… in years.” 

“So what, seeing him again this weekend was all it took? I can’t believe how faithless you are, you, a father to two children!” Drew went to the walk-in closet, where he’d stowed his bags, and brought one out. He began sifting through it for something to wear.

“Aw jeez. Drew, come on. Let me explain.”

“OK, fine.” Drew crossed his arms and looked at Zach with wild eyes. “Explain.”

Zach opened his mouth, raised his hand in a mollifying gesture, and promptly said nothing.

“Yes, that’s just what I thought,” Drew said, drawing on a pair of boxer briefs and grabbing for a shirt and pair of shoes. “I’m going to go now, Zach, back to my own apartment to think things over. I suggest you do the same, or this marriage will be over before it begins.”

Zach wordlessly watched him finish dressing and leave the room, waiting for the sound of the front door opening and closing before walking over to the bed to sit down. He ran his hand through his wet hair and frowned; he wondered if all he had to do to get through this was to keep letting Drew draw his own conclusions—it certainly seemed to be working.

“Yeah, why don’t you do that, you fucking coward?” he muttered.

\----

The Plaza was hopping for 10:00 am on a Sunday—plenty of tourists checking out after a weekend stay, Zach surmised. What caught his attention immediately, however, was the minor commotion on the far side of the hotel’s opulent lobby. From the looks of all the press and photographers, a Kardashian must have exploded or something. He found himself drawn to it despite his more pressing business. 

The subject of the press’s collective orgasm was a young blonde woman, tall and slender with large, expressive eyes and a generous mouth. She wore a form-fitting couture dress that showed off killer curves and, even Zach could admit, absolutely spectacular boobs. The press lobbed questions at her, demanded she turn one way or another to improve their photos, and generally made themselves a loud nuisance. She took it all in stride, however, smiling and obliging them. A harried-looking older woman stood behind her, monitoring what looked to be an impromptu press conference; Zach presumed she was a publicist.

“Who _Is that_?” Zach asked one of the reporters, a young woman who stood toward the back of the group.

“That’s Lady Alice Eve, heir to some British potato chip fortune—or maybe it’s newspapers? Anyway, she was a pilot, an Olympic skier, and used to head up this international charity or something, but she disappeared a few years back. They thought she was dead, but it turns out she was on some island in the Pacific the whole time. It’s the latest story of the century of the week.”

“Good old Al indeed,” Zach muttered, watching the rest of the scene play out.

“Lady Alice! Lady Alice! Tell us what it was like!”

“You'll have to be more specific, darling,” she said playfully; her accent was very cultured, very British. 

“What was the weather like, then?”

A dazzling smile. “Sub-tropical.”

“What did you miss the most?” 

A sparkling laugh. “Hot showers!” 

“What did you use for food?”

“There were loads of trees and bananas and fish. I was well looked after.”

“I’ll bet you were,” Zach muttered.

“We hear there was a young man with you. Did _he_ look after you?

Alice pouted prettily. “Come, darlings, I've got to leave something for Robin Roberts, haven't I?”

“That's all for today, folks,” the publicist announced, cutting the session short. “Alice is here to relax, to recover from her ordeal, and to get some peace. There will be time for more questions tomorrow.”

“Cheers, darlings!” Alice said with a huge grin before blowing them all kisses and teetering away on her stilettos.

Zach watched the crowd dissipate. So much for the meek nerd Chris had implied she was; for all intents and purposes, Alice Eve was the perfect woman. He was already picturing the perfect, blond-haired, blue-eyed children she and Chris would have together. There were a dozen of them, each one more beautiful than the last, the entire family dressed in coordinating Ralph Lauren. They lived in a mansion overlooking the Welsh coast, and wintered in Capri. In her off time, when not finding cures for cancer, Alice single-handedly brought entire species back from the brink of extinction. With her at his side, Chris became a world-famous sensation, his photos earning accolades and prizes, his gallery shows the most exclusive. He pictured himself at one such show, shunted to the back and forgotten by Chris as he went out to meet the paparazzi. For some reason in this scenario, Zach’s hair was plastered to his head like Alfalfa from _The Little Rascals_ and his fly was undone with his shirttail hanging out of it. 

He didn’t know whether to feel like shit or to feel vindicated. In the end, self-importance was always the easier road. 

His cell rang and he pulled it out of his jacket pocket. “Oh, it’s you,” he said.


	15. Good Morning Chris

Sunday morning dawned and everyone seemed to have disappeared. Joe took the kids to church while Zach claimed to have business in the city. And Drew, perhaps the most sensible person of the lot of them, returned to his own apartment. Left on his own, Chris raided Zach’s sock drawer—where, being a creature of habit, he still kept a stash of cash—and let his craving for caffeine lure him into Manhattan. 

“Welcome to Oren’s, what can I get you?”

“I will have a cup of the coffee of the day, a latte, a café au lait, an iced mocha, and an almond croissant, please.”

“Whoa, sailor, you sure about that?” asked the woman behind the counter. She was petite, with short brown hair and a beautiful smile. Pretty but unremarkable, or at least Chris thought Zach would think so. “You might want to pace yourself, New York’s a big city—there’s plenty of time to try it all.”

“It has been a _very long_ time since I had a decent cup of coffee. I’m making up for lost time.”

She nodded, sizing him up as if authenticating his need. “I see. Can I suggest, then, a flat white instead of the latte? You might like it better.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know if I approve of such things. How flat is it? How white?”

She narrowed hers in response. “Just give it a shot.”

“OK.”

“Who should I say it’s for?”

“Chris.” He paid and was told to take a seat—they’d bring his order to him. He found a table near the windows and watched the foot traffic go by.

The bustle of the city was still a little much for him. It wasn’t as if the island didn't have its own noises to get used to, but street traffic was replaced by the sounds of birds in the trees, and the voices of workmen shouting in the street were replaced by tiny tree frogs with very large voices. He felt claustrophobic wherever he went, too—even the tall buildings made him feel closed in and nervous. He didn't remember feeling this way when he’d moved here from California, which admittedly was nothing like this situation, and he didn't have this disjointed feeling of otherness then either. 

“Here are your coffees, sport,” the young woman said as she arrived with a tray. Chris glanced up and gave her a smile of thanks, his eyes lighting up as she placed the drinks on the table in front of him. He just now noticed the tattoo sleeve running up her arms, a complex design that incorporated ivy, flowers, small birds and a cross. It was as beautiful as any work of art, and he told her so. 

“Thanks,” she said with a proud smile. He saw from her nametag that her name was Ana. 

“Did it take a long time?” 

“Yeah, I guess so. I had a whole plan for it. Designed them myself actually; I trained as a painter but,” she gestured at the shop in general, “as you see, I haven’t been able to make it my day job yet.”

“I've always wanted to get one, but I dunno, I never could think of anything I wanted permanently on my skin. But when you think of it as a blank canvas... like you have... Huh,” smiled at her sheepishly. “You probably get people saying stupid stuff like that to you all the time.”

“They’re mostly hostile and/or unwanted judgment. If you're really interested, I'll hook you up with a great artist. She happens to be my sister, so...”

Chris grinned. “Family discount?”

“Sure.”

“I think my husband would kill me. Or at least nag me to death over it. He hates tattoos.”

“Maybe he needs to unclench a little.”

Chris laughed heartily. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“So what's your story? You're not hoping to commit suicide by caffeine overdose, are you? Because I'm pretty sure you'll need a lot more.”

Chris smiled, picking up the small jug of warm milk and adding it to his cafe au lait. “No, it's just been a really long time, that's all.”

“You been in a coma or something?”

“Out of town. _Really far_ out of town. I just got back and... I'm trying to fit back into my life somehow.” 

“How's that working out for you?”

“Nothing's where I left it,” Chris said, sipping his coffee. 

“Did you expect it to be?”

Chris just sighed. 

“Aw, don't worry—Chris, right?” He nodded as she rested a hand on his shoulder and squeezed; it was surprisingly comforting. “You just need to find a new normal that's all. 

“Thanks, Ana.” 

She was right, of course, and he knew it intellectually. But there was a small part of him that expected to be able to pick things up where he'd left them so many years ago and get on with his life. It was just a little hard having it right in his face all the time. He could never find that new normal until he took care of his current problems, like breaking the news of who he was to his children. And getting poor Drew sorted out. And then there was the matter of Zach's jealousy over Alice. 

Chris expected Zach might react the way he did, which was why he hadn't said anything about her earlier. Before they met, Chris had dated girls exclusively. He hadn't even noticed guys before—not really. His attraction to Zach was immediate and absolute, and he knew it was love by the end of the summer, that he would love no one else. 

But the first time Zach visited Chris at Berkeley, he had seen Chris hanging out with his freshmen year girlfriend. Zach's jealousy had been a bit of a shock at the time, and it took a whole lot of fights until Chris realized it was more about Zach’s insecurity than anything. He feared Chris would somehow decide he liked women better. Zach eventually confessed his friend Corey had put the idea into his head and the moment he'd seen Olivia in Chris's room he'd jumped to the conclusion. 

It hadn't really come up since; Zach had learned to trust and Chris had learned to make sure to mention his female friends' significant others often in Zach's presence. Clearly the extraordinary circumstances around Chris's island experience had awakened a sleeping dragon, and Chris knew he needed to nip it in the bud. 

Ana returned to clear his dishes. “So how'd you like that flat white?”

“I liked it! Better than a latte.”

“There you go.”

“Say, Ana, what are you doing later this afternoon?”

She shrugged. “I get off in half an hour.”

“How'd you like to make a quick...” he took his wallet out of his pocket and pulled out most of the bills he'd swiped from Zach that morning. “150 bucks? For like a half hour of your time?”

She shrugged. “It’s twenty times what I make here. Sure, what's the job?”

“Meet me out front after your shift and I’ll explain.” 

She nodded and went back to the counter as Chris pulled out the cell phone Joe had lent him the other day and dialed a number. 

“Hello?” Zach said.

“It’s me,” Chris chirped cheerfully.

“Oh, it’s you.”

“Well that’s a nice greeting.”

“Sorry. Hello, darling!” Zach replied with what Chris recognized as fake enthusiasm.

“Where are you?”

“I’m… at the office…”

“Good—stay there. I want to talk to you.”

\----

The offices of Abrams & Associate were much as Chris remembered them: an unimaginative sea of glass and dark woods that failed to give the place any character whatsoever. Now that he was a partner, Zach had one of the offices with a big window, overlooking the Upper East Side, and presumably the park if you could just lean out the window. Such a contrast from the old days when he was a first year associate and relegated to a windowless shoebox with two other lawyers. When Chris approached the office, he could see Zach inside, bashing away on his computer; he knocked on the door jamb.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything important?”

“No, no,” Zach said, his furrowed brow making Chris think the opposite. He rose from the desk, pushing his laptop closed. His smile was friendly, but his eyes were hooded. 

“I just wanted to… you know, apologize about last night,” Chris said, calling an audible on how to approach this conversation. “You had a right to question—I mean, seven years alone with someone, of course people are going to wonder.”

Zach’s eyes narrowed. 

“You have some time now?” Chris asked.

“Why?”

“I just… I thought you might want to meet Alice. Eve.”

Zach seemed hard-pressed to hide his astonishment at this turn of events, blowing out a lungful of air. “OK, sure.”

Chris smiled and leaned back out into reception, beckoning for Ana to join him. He’d briefed her on the situation, and she’d seemed totally game to help out. She walked hesitantly into the room, keeping her eyes demurely on her shoes.

“So this is Lady Alice?” Zach asked.

Chris was a little perturbed—though he shouldn’t have been surprised—that Zach had done a little homework on Alice and learned about her title.

“Pleased to meet me,” Ana said in an unconvincing British accent that made Chris cringe a little. She stuck her hand out to Zach stiffly. “I mean you! Pleased to meet _you_!” She snorted her laughter and pushed her glasses up her nose. “What a stupid cow.”

“Won’t you have a seat?” Zach said, his voice as smooth as the finest chocolate as he took her hand. 

Ana sat primly on the edge of one of Zach’s guest chairs, balancing a purse she’d borrowed from a co-worker on her knees. “I’ve heard so much about you. Adam here could never shut up about his handsome husband. I see what you were always on about,” she said, looking at Chris.

Chris smiled blandly back at her, but kept his eyes on Zach.

“I haven't very much time,” Ana said. “I’m on a plane to Heathrow this evening.”

“Really? I thought Chris said something about an interview on Good Morning America tomorrow?”

“Oh that? I decided I’m not interested in allowing my life experiences to be exploited by the insatiable appetites of the American media.”

“Really?” Zach said, looking sharply at Chris.

Chris, who’d been mouthing Ana’s well-rehearsed line along with her, clamped his lips closed. “That’s Eve for ya, ha-ha!” he said. “ _So_ modest!”

“Yes, very,” Ana said, looking demure again. “I’m afraid my modesty made me a poor companion for your husband.” She reached out to pull her skirt further down her thighs to cover her knees, exposing her tattoos. Chris poked her and she jumped, but pulled her hand back. “But, er, if there’s anything you want to ask me about our time on the island, just fire away!”

Zach frowned at Chris. “Ask her anything,” Chris offered brazenly. He went to lean against Zach’s desk, legs crossed at the ankle, looking as at-ease as he could. 

“Actually, I wanted to thank you for taking such good care of Chris, Alice. When you first arrived there?”

 _Shit,_ Chris thought, he hadn’t briefed Ana about his injured leg. Leaning behind Zach, he shook his right foot rather violently behind his back. When Zach glanced over, he masked the movement by strolling over to the window.

Luckily, Ana was quick on the uptake. “Oh yes, he did injure his, uh, his leg during the plane crash, the poor thing. He was delirious for days—all he could talk of was getting back to his family. I remember thinking how lucky he must be to have people to love him so much. It was then I resolved to save him, do you see? How could I live with myself if I let this man, this beloved husband and father, die an ignominious death in the middle of nowhere?” She stood, her speech suddenly impassioned, and indicated Chris with an outstretched hand. “Well, I couldn’t, could I? I swore I would die before letting harm come to him! This man! This good, godly man!”

Chris interrupted her, “Well, OK, that’s, uh, really, uh… don’t you have a plane to catch?”

“That’s right, I do!” Ana said pleasantly, dropping her hand with a smack against her thigh.

“I thought you said your flight was tonight?” Zach pointed out.

“You know how it is these days!” Chris said, moving forward to bundle her out of there. “Traffic to JFK, and getting through customs or whatever! I don’t want to keep you, Alice, dear!” He kissed her chastely on the cheek and patted her on the head, mouthing a silent, “Thank you!” to her before pushing her out the door.

“Nice to meet you!” Zach called to her as she dashed for the elevator.

Chris turned to face him, arms crossed with self-satisfaction. “Well there, see? I told you there was nothing between us, are you satisfied?”

Zach raised his eyebrows, looking thoughtful. “Yes,” he finally said. 

Chris smiled with relief. “Feel better now?”

“Loads. How about some lunch?”

“I’d love some. To tell you the truth, I could use a little something in my stomach—I think I overdid it on the coffee earlier.”

Zach smiled kindly. “How about the Plaza?”


	16. At the Plaza

“Schmancy,” Chris commented as they were shown to their table. He was understating it as usual—the opulence of the famous Palm Court, with its live trees and golden accents, seemed as if it had been pulled from the set of a movie. Chris would have been fine with a burger at a nearby pub, but for some reason Zach wanted to come to this place. “You remember when we first moved here?” Chris said, taking his seat. “After we were married?”

Zach smiled, his eyes going soft. “You wouldn’t even set foot in the lobby. You said you wouldn’t come in just to gawk like a tourist; you’d only come here when we could afford it.”

He unfolded his napkin and laid it in his lap. “I guess you can afford it.”

“ _We can_ , yes,” Zach informed him. Chris was encouraged at his use of the plural pronoun.

A waiter came to take their drink order. “Bloody Mary?” Zach offered.

“That’s maybe a little heavy.”

“Champagne then.”

“Are we celebrating?”

Zach cocked his head and smiled but said nothing; Chris refused to try to interpret it, though there was something behind his eyes, something calculating.

“What’s not to celebrate?” Zach asked, choosing a vintage.

The waiter returned quickly, opened the bottle with a flourish, and filled two glasses. Chris picked his up to sip, as Zach held his own aloft. “Are we drinking to something?”

“Of course. There’s champagne involved, we have to drink to something.”

“What?”

Zach made a show of thinking. “I know, let’s drink to… no more suspicions.”

“No more suspicions! If married people can’t be honest, then who can?” Chris said with a smile, clinking his glass against Zach’s. 

Chris’s attention wandered at a sudden commotion at the entrance to the restaurant. A young woman, surrounded by photographers, had entered. She paused as she took in the space, her entourage pausing with her to snap photos, flashes going off like an impending lightning storm. It was Alice, of course, and of course she would show up here, right after Chris had presented his dog and pony show with Ana. 

Alice scanned the room, her eyes finding Chris as if he was a beacon. Her smile was warm and filled with delighted surprise. She turned to her entourage and said something Chris couldn’t hear, and the men dissipated.

“Something wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Zach said avidly.

The moment Chris looked into his face he knew this had been a setup.

“I dropped my napkin, I should get another.”

“It’s on your lap. You’ve got it tucked into your belt.”

“Is it? Oh—“ It was an old habit Zach had often chided him for in the past. Chris looked up and saw that Alice was nearly at their table, a broad smile on her face, looking well and happy. He stood.

“Chris! I thought that was you. Darling, how are you?” Alice came to him, rested her hands on his arms and bussed him on the cheeks. 

“I… well…”

Zach, too stood, acting the gentleman. “Chris? Will you introduce me to your friend?”

“I… uh…”

“Alice,” Alice said, turning to Zach and extending a hand, “Eve.”

“Zachary Quinto. Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Zach said pleasantly. “I’m Chris’s husband.”

Alice’s eyes lit up with surprise and delight and she shook Zach’s hand more warmly. “Your husband? You never said he was so handsome!”

“Yes, well…” Chris said, his mouth suddenly dry. He reached for his glass.

“Champagne? Of course you’re celebrating Chris’s dramatic return. I’ll just go,” Alice said.

“No, you should join us!” Zach said, beckoning their waiter over; the cursed man already had another glass at the ready, placing it on the table for Alice and filling it. Zach held the chair out for her and she sat. “I didn’t think Chris had any famous friends,” he added, as he and Chris took their seats.

“I’m not famous… just notorious at the moment. But hasn’t Chris told you…”

“Told me what?”

Alice looked at Chris, and the delight in her eyes turned to confusion. “How we’re acquainted.”

Zach’s eyes, glowed with triumph as he looked at Chris. “No. He has not.”

“I think you know already,” Chris said, making his voice as even as he could and narrowing his eyes. Zach’s gloating expression eased a bit at the cold fury he saw in Chris’s eyes. “My husband hasn’t slept since he heard you were on the island with me,” Chris continued, turning his attention to Alice. “He’s arranged this meeting to try to trap us into a confession or something.”

“What? No,” Zach protested.

“He’s a very clever lawyer,” Chris said over Zach’s protests, “and he’ll try to catch you out, so be careful.”

“Oh?” Alice said, her smile returning. “Well, I can be foxy myself, and we’ve got nothing to hide.”

“Ah, but he has, you see.” He sipped his champagne. “Zach’s gotten married again.”

“No!” Alice said, her hand shooting out to cover Chris’s wrist.

“Yes!” Chris said, leaning toward her. They both looked at Zach.

“Mazel tov,” Alice said. “That’s absolutely wonderful!”

“What?” Zach and Chris said in unison, looking at Alice with astonishment.

“That’s the best news I’ve had in a week.”

“Why?”

Alice picked Chris’s hand up off the table and held it cradled in hers. “Because don’t you see? It simplifies everything. Now I can come right out and tell you.”

“T-tell me what?” Chris asked.

“Well, I… Chris, I’ve fallen in love with you.”

Zach picked up Chris’s other hand. “What?” he said.

“Zach, I’ve known your husband for seven years, and he’s the smartest, funniest, most gentlemanly person a woman could ask for.” She looked into Chris’s eyes; Chris was reminded of some old kid’s story about cobras hypnotizing their prey. “No woman could ask for a better companion, a truer friend, or a more charming playmate.”

“Playmate?”

“She’s British—they have a different word for everything,” Chris said nervously.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Alice said, squeezing the hand she held and pulling it closer to herself to clutch against her chest. Zach, in counterpoint, pulled Chris’s other hand closer to himself.

“I feel like a wishbone,” Chris said.

“But if you must know,” Alice went on, ignoring him, “we did nothing to reproach ourselves for during those seven years. Chris was a faithful husband, and very open about his feelings for you. But now you’ve moved on, I can be free to toss my own hat in the ring as it were.” She looked at Chris again. “Chris, if you’ll have me, I would very much like to be your wife.”

“What if I’m not done with him yet?” Zach asked.

Alice raised a perfectly-groomed eyebrow. “You can’t have two husbands.”

“I know that.”

“So make up your mind, then. Just know I’ve got no intention of backing down now that my real intentions are known.”

“Intentions?” Zach gripped Chris’s hand tighter.

“I mean, look… how many years were you married? Before the island?”

“Five years. Why?”

“I was with Chris for seven—we’re like common-law married.”

“Don’t I get a say in this?” Chris asked, pulling his hands away from both of them and folding them protectively against his own chest. He stood and Zach and Alice looked up at him as if they’d forgotten about him. “Look, I’ll just let you two thrash this out, shall I? Just do me a favor and let me know who wins.” He turned his attention to Zach, eyes flashing. “Just know this, _honey_ , one thing Alice has never been is deceitful. I can’t believe you brought me here like this, clearly knowing she would be here. You’ve humiliated me, Zach—again—and you’ve hurt me, and frankly I am finding it difficult to remember why I wanted you back in the first place. If you will both excuse me?”

He turned and left, flagging down the first taxi he found. It wasn’t until he’d given the guy the address that he realized the damn napkin was still tucked into his belt. The golden threads of the embroidered Plaza logo glinting in the sun made him think of wedding rings.


	17. Back in Brooklyn

By the time he got home, Chris’s anger had disappeared, and in its place he felt only heartache. He had pinned so many expectations and hopes to a happy reunion with his family, had dreamt of it for so many years, but he had never considered what would happen if things did not go smoothly. He realized now he was very naïve for thinking that—some small part of him probably knew it all along—but during long nights on the island spent pining for what he no longer had, it was all that kept him sane.

He found he didn’t have enough cash on him to pay the cabbie, so he went up to the house and rang the bell—he did not dwell on the fact he still didn’t have a key to his own home. Joe answered. 

“Welcome back, you look like hell.”

“Thanks, I could always count on you to make me feel better. Do you suppose you could pay for the taxi? Being legally dead, I haven’t got any credit cards.”

“Sure.” He reached for his wallet as he moved out the front door.

“Uncle Pino! Uncle Pino!” The sound of his children’s delight at seeing him did a lot to lift Chris’s mood. They rushed to him, throwing their arms around him. 

“Aw, you guys.”

Joe was halfway across the sidewalk when he turned back. “Hey, be forewarned—Drew’s back. With the mother.” He waggled his not inconsiderable brows.

“Ah, Jesus, that’s all we need,” Chris muttered.

“Have fuu-uuun!” Joe sang before heading over to pay the taxi driver.

Chris turned back to the kids, who were squirming around, asking if he’d brought them anything. “I’m afraid not, though soon I’ll bring you a big surprise.”

“Really?” Teeny asked, dancing and twirling with excitement. “What?”

“A new X-Box?” Leo asked.

“Almost as good,” Chris replied. “Should we go in?”

Leo rolled his eyes. “Drew is here.”

“Don’t you like him? He seems pretty nice.”

“He tries to act like a kid when he’s not a kid and he doesn’t think we notice.”

Chris raised his eyebrows and followed them into the house. 

A pair of voices filtered down the stairs as he passed, a male and a female. Chris glanced at the kids, then up the stairs, suddenly gripped with a need to know what they were saying. 

“Hey, kids, why don’t you go downstairs and start a movie and I’ll be right down to join you?”

“OK, Uncle Pino,” they said in unison and moved off. 

Chris focused on the voices, straining his ears as well as his body, but couldn’t really make out what they were saying. He placed a foot on the bottom stair, a hand on the rail, hesitating.

“You’ll never get a good earful unless you get closer,” Joe’s voice boomed in his ear.

Chris jumped. “Joe! What the hell, man.”

He grinned like the evil son of a bitch he was. “Look, this is none of my business, but Mrs. Society Pants was talking about tearing walls down earlier.”

Chris saw red suddenly—no one was going to mess with _his_ house, it was perfect. He clutched at the collar of his shirt.

“She was using words like ‘minimalist touches’ and ‘feng shui,’ kid. You better get in there.”

Chris was halfway up the stairs before he knew it.

They were in his bedroom, that much he could tell as he got to the top of the stairs, but as he crept closer, it was clear they weren’t discussing interior design. 

“I don’t know why you tolerate it, Andrew, I just don’t. You just got married, you should be off enjoying each other, not playing at domestic bliss here in the… _outer boroughs_.”

“He’s under a lot of stress, Mother, what with the job and the kids.”

“He had the same job and kids before he met you, why should it be any different now? You’re married, he needs to spend a little time with you. Your father and I always made sure to spend the first and last moments of each day with each other—it’s what kept us going through even the hardest times.”

“That and an awful lot of dirty martinis,” Drew muttered.

“Don’t be cruel, dear, you’re too young to pull it off,” Constance said in a breezy voice, leaving Chris to wonder if he hadn’t just wandered in on an episode of _Dynasty_. “You have to assert yourself, darling,” Constance went on, “establish yourself as the proper helpmate and take control of things. Do you think your father could have gotten to where he is without me back home, holding things together for him? I ran a tight ship and kept my ship tight, if you know what I mean.”

“I think the curtains know what you mean.”

Yes, well, you’ll do well to follow my example.”

“Mother, I don’t think falling back on outdated gender roles is the answer.”

“If it quacks like a duck…”

“Now who’s being cruel?”

There was a long pause, with no speaking, and Chris thought he could hear sniffling. 

“Now, now, dear, what’s the real matter?” Constance said in a low voice.

“He barely looks at me. It’s like I’m invisible!” Drew sobbed. There were more sympathetic murmurs from Constance that Chris couldn’t hear, then: “Don’t you get it, we haven’t slept together _ever_! Period, end of sentence!”

“Darling, you know I don’t like to deal in stereotypes, but I was led to believe you gays were insatiable.”

“Mother!”

“Fine. But do you mean to tell me, in the six months you’ve been together, you and Zachary have yet to have sex?”

“Yes!”

“Is there something _wrong with his plumbing_?” she said, _sotto voce_.

“It seems to work, I mean, there were times when he… _of course his plumbing’s all right_!” He paused. “But then something always happens that stops him, and… well, there are things I’d rather not discuss with my mother.”

“Does he at least _see to you_?”

“Mother.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’ then.”

“I think he’s still not over his first husband,” Drew said in a small voice. “Oh, why did I say I’d marry him on the day—the very day!—he was having him declared dead?”

“I’m not going to say, ‘I told you so,’ dear.”

“You just did.”

“No, I was assuring you I wasn’t.”

“Whatever. Mommy, what am I supposed to do now? One more failed relationship? One more tabloid sensation?” 

There was a footfall from within the room, as if someone was approaching the bedroom door. Chris backed away, not wanting to be caught—and collided with a basket full of laundry that had been left propped up on the hall table. It hit the wall with a loud thump and nearly toppled, though Chris was able to pivot and catch it before it hit the floor. “Shit,” he muttered as the inevitable happened, and Drew and Constance appeared in the doorway.

“Pino?” Drew said.

Chris turned to face him, the laundry basket in his hands. “Hey there… I was just… uh…” He glanced down at the basket he held. “Bringing Teeny’s laundry. To her room.” He backed toward the room in question, hoping to duck inside. 

“What are you supposed to be?” Constance said to Chris. “Some sort of domestic?” Up close, she was quite an imposing figure, Chanel-suited and Prada-shod, even on a Sunday. She looked at Chris as if he had brought an unpleasant smell with him. 

Chris slung the laundry basket over to rest it on his hip and held his hand out, grinning. “I’m Pino, glad to know you.”

Constance stared at his hand as if confused by the gesture.

“I told you, Mother, Pino’s one of Zach’s friends from when he was young.”

Constance raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Oh? How young?”

“Oh, you know, since college.”

“I thought you said middle school?” Drew said.

“Did I? Well, we didn’t really start hanging out until we were in college. Sophomore year at Berkeley.”

“Zach went to Carnegie Mellon,” Drew said.

“That’s right,” Chris said, swallowing. “I went to Berkeley while he was at CMU.”

“So how could you hang out if you were at opposite ends of the country?”

“Well, see, that’s a funny story, because—“ He was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and slamming shut. 

“Hello?” Zach called out. “Hello!”

He sounded agitated, Chris thought. “Look at that—speak of the devil himself,” he said.

“Where is my husband?!” Zach demanded in a loud voice.

Chris was about to head for the stairs when Drew and his mother pushed past him, beating him to it.

“Drew?” Zach said, clearly not expecting the man he’d just married. “What are you doing here?”

“I _live here_?” was the shrill reply.

“Oh. I thought you were going home.”

“Isn’t this our home?”

Chris, still carrying the laundry, walked down the stairs to get a better view of the chaos.

Zach spotted him right away. “There you are, what the hell do you call that stunt with the tattooed woman at the office?” 

“Only my latest attempt to coddle your ego,” Chris replied acerbically. “And oh, hey—I _did_ find something I never missed!”

“Don’t even bring that up now, I can’t believe you lied to me.”

The doorbell rang.

“Me? What do you call the stunt you pulled at the Plaza? I’ll just bet you were crowing like a prize cock after I left!” Zach blinked indignantly, not sure if Chris calling him a cock was an insult or not. “I have never been so humiliated in all my life.”

“Just what the hell is going on around here?” Constance said to Drew, who watched the argument with his mouth hanging open.

“You have never been so humiliated? _You?!_ I cannot _believe_ you!” Zach said, flapping his elbows in frustration.

Chris laughed suddenly. “Now you really do look like a prize cock.”

Zach shut his mouth as the doorbell rang again, followed by a loud knock. Zach narrowed his eyes, seething, his hands in fists at his sides. 

“Cock-a-doodle-doo.”

The knocking at the door intensified.

“I cannot believe this is the insanity you’ve married into Andrew!” Constance proclaimed.

“Jeez, you guys, are you gonna answer the door or what?” Joe said, coming into the front hall, drying his hands on a dish towel. He strode to the door and opened it wide. On the other side were two men, one dressed in a lumpy suit, the other in a NYPD patrolman’s uniform.

“Detective Yelchin, NYPD,” said the man in the suit. He looked all of 16. “Is Zachary Quinto at home?”

Zach turned to face him, blinking quickly. “I’m Zachary.”

“Will you step outside please, sir,” Yelchin asked politely, stepping back as if making room for him.

“What… what for?”

“Just step outside.”

“I’m a member of the bar, Detective, I know my rights.”

Yelchin’s boy-like face colored. “Then it is my duty to inform you, Counselor, that I am here to execute a warrant for your arrest.”

“Arrest?!” Constance said loudly, literally clutching her pearls.

“What’s the charge?” Zach asked.

“Bigamy. Will you come with me, sir?”


	18. Kings County Family Court

“If Your Honor please, I was…”

“Quiet in the court! I want it quiet!” Judge Irene Grant stared down at Zach with a pinched look on her face. “I don’t know what you’re doing here, Mr. Quinto. Bigamy is a criminal offense.”

Zach got up on his toes so he could get closer, demonstrate his sincerity. “I know, ma’am, but I’m out on bail and—“

“I don’t care anything about bail, this is a civil court,” she snapped. “Aren’t you supposed to be a lawyer, shouldn’t you know that?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Where did you go to law school?”

Zach pushed himself back from the bar and tried to take cleansing, calming breaths. It had been a long night, and his arraignment hadn’t taken place until well after midnight. He barely had the chance to get home and shower before he made his way down here, to try to get Judge Grant to hear him out before court went into session for the day. “Harvard,” he answered calmly.

“I’m a Yalie myself,” the judge said. She looked over at the person standing to Zach’s right. “You’re the groom?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Drew said quietly. He looked pale this morning, angry. 

“Honor still intact?” Judge Grant asked. 

Drew’s cheeks colored. 

“Awww,” Chris, standing to Zach’s left, said with a smirk.

“If we could get on to the case at hand?” Zach asked politely, ignoring them both.

“I see nothing wrong with my original decision, Harvard. You have another brief?”

“Yes, the evidence is all there.”

“And you want me to reverse myself? You need to go to the Court of Appeals, they love to reverse my decisions all the time.”

“Your Honor, I have a precedent for this case. I cite the case of Mulligan v. Benson-Mulligan in the city of Rye, 1919.”

“I can’t believe I have to stand here and take this indignity,” Drew muttered. 

Chris leaned over the front of the judge’s bench to look at Drew. “You and me both,” he said.

“Quiet, you,” the judge admonished, and Chris bit his lip. She gestured for Zach to continue. 

“Thank you, judge. The case went like this: Mrs. Mulligan returned after an absence of considerable length to find that Mr. Mulligan had remarried. Now, when the first wife returned, the second wife immediately sued for annulment. That left Mr. Mulligan, the husband, free to remarry the first wife, Mrs. Mulligan, or the second wife, Mrs. Mulligan-Benson, or rather Benson-Mulligan.” He took a deep breath and said, “Whew.”

“Guess it was a Mulligan stew,” Chris cracked, and the entire courtroom erupted in laughter.

“Quiet! I’ll have no laughter here!” Judge Grant banged her gavel and gave Chris the hairy eyeball. Chris grinned back. “That’ll cost you $250.”

“For a joke? Come on, it was a really good one!”

“You heard me, $250.”

You can't do that, Your Honor. I'm legally dead. It's not nice to take money from a corpse.”

“That'll cost you $250 more. That's 500 you owe me.” The judge turned her clerk. “You keeping track of this, Winston?” Winston nodded. “Good.”

“But he is legally dead, Irene,” Winston added, “you declared it yourself last Friday. It’s on file and everything.”

She looked at Zach. “Did I do that?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“I did? Well then, I'm going to declare him legally alive, then he can pay me that $500. Will someone here swear he’s a live man?”

“I'll say he is, Your Honor!” 

Zach and everyone at the bar turned as Alice came into the room, entourage of paparazzi trailing her like a cloud of gnats. She paused to smile for pictures, then headed for the front of the courtroom. 

“But you can't do that, Your Honor,” Zach said. “If he's alive, I'm guilty of bigamy, since I married this man.” He indicated. “You married us yourself, judge.”

“I did?” She looked over her glasses at Drew. “I may owe you an apology.” She turned her baleful eyes back to Zach. “And who made the bigamy charge against you?” she asked.

“I did, ma’am,” Joe said, standing up from his seat in the gallery. “I’m the defendant’s brother.”

“His brother?” She rolled her eyes. “Some brother you are.”

“Tell me about it, ma’am,” Zach complained.

“Don’t make me fine you, too.”

“Fine them both, you’ll have an even thou,” Chris pointed out.

Judge Grant pointed her gavel at him. “You’re on thin ice.”

Chris just kept grinning at her like a loon with that charming smile that made Zach want to simultaneously kiss him and bust him in the chops. 

“So which one are you?” Judge Grant asked Alice.

“She was on the island, she's not important to this case,” Zach tried to explain.

“I'll decide what's important to the case. What island?”

Zach was suddenly feeling morose. “The island where my husband stayed for seven years, Your Honor.”

Judge Grant looked at Chris, then at Alice standing, radiant and beautiful, right beside him. “ _They_ were on an island for seven years?

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Not alone?”

“Yes.”

“Same island?”

“Yes.”

“Is that in the brief?”

“No.”

“That should be in the brief. That's the most interesting part of the case.” She looked at Chris and Alice and smiled. “Boy, you two sure would make pretty babies.”

“Your Honor please,” Drew interrupted, “I would like to leave before my entire head explodes?”

“I hear you,” the judge told him. “I’d like to go home too—tell my husband about this case. He thinks all my cases are boring.”

Zach covered his eyes with his left hand, wondering when his life had become a three-ring circus.

The judge went on, “It seems to me the only thing I can do is annul the second marriage so you can remarry this man, Mr. Pine. I don't know what you're going to do about her,” she cocked her head at Alice and waggled her eyebrows, “Because va-va-va-voom, you know?”

“I haven't had time to think that through, ma’am,” Zach said. As he spoke, he could sense Chris’s head turn in his direction, and he immediately regretted it. Before he could say anything more, Judge Grant was talking.

“I therefore annul the marriage of Quinto and Vanderpool and declare Mr. Pine there legally alive.” She banged the gavel and Drew left without a parting glance. “You’re going to have your hands full for a while, young man,” she said to Zach.

“I dunno about your ruling, ma’am, but I think I’ll want a divorce,” Chris interrupted.

“What?” Zach said, stung.

“If you like, you can come with me,” Alice suggested. “I thought I’d head back to the island, see about dedicating it as an animal sanctuary. You could be our official photographer.”

“Oh? That’d be nice,” Chris said.

“Hey,” Zach said.

“You could also bring the children,” Alice suggested. “Think of the fun they’d have at the waterfall!”

“Oh, Leo loves to swim,” Chris mused. “Though I suppose they’ll have to get all their shots.”

“And anti-malarials,” Alice pointed out.

“Especially Teeny—she’s very wee.”

Alice laughed merrily as they walked toward the door of the courtroom, arm-in-arm. 

The sight of Chris with someone else—anyone else—hurt Zach to his core. How had he let this get this far? He couldn’t just let Chris go like this, not after the miracle of his return—only to allow his stupid pride and petty jealousy drive him away. He was the love of Zach’s life. Even when he thought he was dead, Zach couldn’t think of touching another man. He strode the length of the courtroom to catch up.

“If you think you’re taking our children to that fever-ridden pesthole,” Zach said, reaching for Chris’s arm to stop him.

“Well what else am I to do while you _think about it,_ Zachary?”

“God, I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry. I was just—“

“Being stupid?”

“Yes.”

“And insensitive? And unthinking? And a hurtful dick?”

Zach closed his eyes. “Yes.”

“I might forgive you.”

“You will?” 

“If you marry me again. Right now.” 

Zach felt a surge of joy. “You really want that?” He reached a tentative hand out, caressing Chris’s cheek. 

Chris leaned into his touch and closed his eyes. “I have dreamt of a moment just like this for seven years.”

Zach took his hand and pulled him close; they kissed, their bodies molding together as the long years of their separation seemed to fade away, at least for the moment.

“Awww, you two really are adorable,” Alice said, clapping.

Chris and Zach parted. “I thought you wanted him all for yourself?” Zach said.

“I do,” she said. “But he is so in love with you, I could never, ever compete.” She looked at Chris with raised eyebrows. “Though the offer still stands.” Chris shook his head and slipped his arm through Zach’s, hugging it close. Alice shrugged. “Anyway, when Chris asked me last night to help him with this little charade in court today, I couldn’t say no. You deserve to be happy.”

Zach looked at Chris. “More manipulation?” he asked, though there was no animus left in him.

“I swear it’s the last time.”

Zach kissed him again. “I believe you.”

“Oh, hey! You’re finally back together!”

Chris and Zach both jumped as Joe’s booming voice filled the courtroom. When he had disappeared, Zach didn’t know, but now he was back, with Leo and Teeny in tow.

“Joe, what the hell?” Chris said, pulling away from Zach.

Teeny came up to him, and patted him on the belly. “Don’t worry, Daddy, we knew it was you all along.”

“What?!”

“Just because our other dad doesn’t have pictures of you around, it doesn’t mean we don’t,” Leo said, walking up to Chris.

Chris looked at Joe, tears filling his eyes. “You explained?”

“Did I have a choice? They figured it out as soon as you left for Montauk.”

“Oh! Oh my babies!” Chris said, going to his knees to hug them both. Teeny and Leo laughed and covered his face in kisses. “Now this _is_ how I imagined it,” he said as he held them tight for several seconds.

Zach, too, was driven to tears. With all that had happened the last three days, he hadn’t taken the time to reflect that Chris was back in his life. The love of his life had returned, and he had to be the luckiest man on the planet. He went to his family and joined them in the hugs, tears flowing down his face as they all traded happy kisses.

“Hey Alice!” one of the ever-present paparazzi said. “How about another few pictures?”

“I dunno if I’m all that important today, boys.” She turned to look at Chris and Zach and their family, a large smile on her face. “I think love’s the story at the moment.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for your time.


End file.
